®Ijp  B.  in.  'Mi  SJtbrarg 


North  (Earnltna  S>talp  Intnpraity 

Q,H81 
A26 


l^BRARIES 


CHARLES  R.  SANDERS,  JR. 
Americana-Southeastern  States 
123    Montgomery    Street 
Raleigh,  North  Carolina 


This  book  is  due  on  the  date  indicated 
below  and  is  subject  to  an  overdue  fine 
as  posted  at  the  Circulation  Desk, 


NOV  2  ^  2000 


WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS 


BY 


CHARLES  C.  ABBOTT,  M.D. 

AUTHOR   OF   "upland   AND   MEADOW "    "  FRIMITITE   INDUSTRY" 
"  A   NATURALIST  S   RAMBLES  ABOUT   HOME  "   ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN   SQUARE 

LoxDOX  :  30  Fleet  Street 

1887 


Copyright,  1887,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


PEEFACE. 


Had  some  sturdy  Diitcli  navigator  wandered  so  far 
inland  from  the  capes  of  the  Delaware  as  to  see  the 
bold  east  shore  of  the  river  and  mouth  of  Crosswicks 
Creek,  he  would  doubtless  have  been  charmed  with  so 
sweet  a  spot,  and  left  a  marvellous  record  of  his  jour- 
ney.    Alas !  none  came. 

Had  the  plucky  Swedish  engineer,  who,  in  1654, 
mapped  the  river  from  the  capes  to  the  falls,  lost  tlie 
main  stream  in  some  fog,  and  turned  into  Crosswicks 
Creek,  what  a  wonderful  account  he  would  have  given 
us  of  what  he  took  to  be  the  upper  regions  of  the  riv- 
er valley.  But  there  was  no  fog,  and  Lindstrom  kept 
straight  on  until  he  reached  the  falls ;  and  it  has  been 
recorded  by  a  fellow-countryman  of  his,  that  "  about  the 
falls  of  Assinjnnk^  and  farther  up  the  river,  the  land  is 
rich,  and  there  are  a  great  many  plantations  on  it.  It 
does  not  produce  much  Indian-corn,  but  a  great  quantity 
of  grape-vines,  white,  red,  brown,  and  blue  ;  the  inhabit- 
ants want  only  to  know  how  to  press  the  grape  in  order 
to  have  a  rich  wine  country.  As  to  the  interior,  noth- 
ing is  known  about  it,  except  that  it  is  believed  to  be 
a  continent :  the  Swedes  have  no  intercourse  with  any 
of  the  savages  but  the  black  and  white  Mengwes — Iro- 
quois— and  these  know  nothing  exce|)t  that  as  far  as 
they  have  gone  into  the  interior  the  country  is  inhab- 
ited by  other  wild  nations  of  various  races."     This  non- 


iv  PREFACE. 

sense  is  far  less  satisfactory  than  a  deseriiDtion  of  Cross- 
wicks  Creek  would  have  been,  even  if  described  as  the 
head- waters  of  the  Delaware. 

But  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  if  I  read  him  aright,  did 
attract  him,  for  it  is  recorded  on  his  map,  very  near  the 
mouth  of  the  creek,  "  Bergs  fins  Solf  wer  Metall,"  or  hills 
where  silver  is  found ;  and  Campanius  adds, "  the  land 
is  hilly,  but  not  such  hills  as  in  Sweden ;  they  are  clay 
and  sand  hills.  Some  of  them  are  naturally  disposed  to 
the  production  of  metals ;  for  instance,  there  is  a  hill  at 
Mekansio  Sippus,  or  creek,  in  which  there  is  good  silver 
ore,  and  along  the  creek  the  strand  is  covered  all  over 
with  flint-stones,  some  of  which  are  of  a  round  shape, 
and  when  broken  there  are  found  in  them  grains  of 
pure  silver,  some  larger  and  some  smaller.  Mr.  Lind- 
strom  says  that  he  himself  has  broken  more  than  a  hun- 
dred of  them,  and  taken  out  the  silver  that  was  therein." 
The  third  century  is  well  advanced  since  this  was  written, 
yet  this  is  not  a  mining  country.  If  Lindstrom  left  any 
silver-bearing  pebbles,  they  are  still  lying  on  the  strand. 

Later  came  the  English ;  and,  so  far  as  can  be  deter- 
mined, the  pleasant  valley  of  this  noble  creek  was  a  ver- 
itable terra  incognita  when  Penn's  thrifty  followers  ex- 
plored, found  good,  and  took  possession  of  it.  They 
certainly  knew  little  and  cared  less  about  their  red- 
skinned  predecessors,  and  having  no  poetry  in  their 
souls,  gave  new  and  inaj^propriate  names  to  every  im- 
portant physical  feature  of  the  land.  It  is  true  that  in 
some  cases  they  Anglicized  the  Indian  name,  and  the 
bluffs  at  Crossweeksung  became  Crosswicks,  as  did  also 
the  stream  that  wound  thread-like  through  their  mead- 
ows. 

The  Indians  were  not  content  with  such  a  paucity  of 
names.    One  for  the  pretty  hills  at  Crosswicks  must  not 


niEFACE.  V 

do  duty  for  miles  of  meadow  and  a  meandering  stream 
that  flowed  for  leagues  through  a  wilderness  of  waste- 
land before  lost  in  the  Lenape-wihittuck  —  now  Dela- 
ware River  —  so  they  called  the  little  river  Mechen- 
tschiholens-sipu,  Big  Bird  Creek.  Perhaps,  in  a  suc- 
ceeding chapter,  why  it  was  so  called,  to  what  big  bird 
the  Indians  referred,  may  be  made  plain. 

It  was  about  IGSO  when  the  earliest  settlers  in  the 
lower  portion  of  the  Crosswicks  valley  began  their  fre- 
quent journeys  to  and  from  the  only  grist-mill  in  tlie 
neighborhood,  and  they  adopted  as  their  route  a  certain 
circuitous  path  which  experience  proved  to  be  the  least 
fatiguing  to  man  and  beast.  For  a  time  no  wagons  were 
used,  and  Stacy's  mill  on  the  Assunpink  was  reached 
only  on  horseback  or  on  foot.  Finally,  when  the  land 
was  "  taken  up,"  this  path  was  officially  recognized  as 
a  public  highway,  widened  to  accommodate  carts,  and 
rudely  bridged  wherever  it  crossed  a  brook.  From 
creek  to  creek  the  cleared  fields  were  few  and  small, 
and  there  were  but  three  log-houses.  All  else  was  an 
unbroken  forest. 

To-day  every  rod  of  that  ancient  highway  is  enclosed, 
and  forms  part  either  of  the  busy  town  or  of  the  long 
line  of  fertile  fields  between  the  site  of  that  old  mill  and 
the  tortuous,  tree-clad  valley  of  Crossweeksung.  ISTot  a 
vestige  of  the  old  road  remains ;  not  a  way-side  tree  is 
standing  ;  probably  not  a  person  is  living  who  ever  trav- 
elled it.  Except  to  a  few  mousers  of  old  records,  the 
fact  that  another  than  the  present  turnpike  ever  led 
from  valley  to  valley  is  quite  unknown. 

But  when  this  ancient  highvv^ay  was  the  only  one  lead- 
ing from  Crosswicks  to  Stacy's  mill — "  a  most  brave 
place,  whatever  envy  or  evil  spies  may  speak  of  it " — 


vi  PREFACE. 

tlie  creek  was  a  well-travelled  water-way,  and  tlie  only 
tlioronglifare  communicating  with  the  then  villages  of 
Bm-lington  and  Philadelphia.  Now,  like  the  old  road, 
the  creek  as  a  commercial  highway  is  qnite  forgotten. 
For  sixty  years  not  a  vessel  except  the  hideous  hulks  of 
lime-boats  has  landed  at  any  of  its  wharves  ;  but,  unlike 
the  old  road,  the  stream  remains,  and,  happily  for  the  nat- 
uralist and  him  who  loves  a  quiet  outing,  has  in  great 
measure  kept  to  that  condition  that  made  it  so  attrac- 
tive to  the  Indians. 

Mechen-tschiholens-sipu,  as  the  redskins  called  it,  is  a 
tide-water  stream,  and  the  uppermost  of  the  afHuents  of 
the  Delaware  possessing  this  feature.  When,  then,  it 
may  be  asked,  is  it  seen  at  its  best  ?— at  high  or  low  tide  ? 
It  is  not  a  mere  matter  of  taste.  The  two  conditions 
are  so  unlike  as  scarcely  to  be  comparable.  For  myself 
I  should  sadly  miss  either  one.  At  high  tide  we  have 
a  wide  stream,  with  deep  green,  rushy  banks ;  at  low,  a 
narrow,  rapid,  and  more  fretful  current.  The  former 
shuts  out  the  treasures  of  the  stream,  and  invites  to  ex- 
ploration of  the  curiously  nooked  and  crannied  shores  ; 
the  latter  opens  up  the  mysteries  of  a  world  beneath  the 
waves,  of  which,  as  yet,  we  have  had  but  casual  glimpses. 
Even  animal  life  that  is  not  strictly  aquatic  is  largely 
affected  by  this  difference  in  the  tides,  and  many  a  creat- 
ure that  we  can  see  at  one  time  is  seldom  to  be  found  at 
another.     It  is  always  at  low  tide  that  I  have  seen  at 

its  best 

"The  moping  heron, motionless  and  stiff, 

That  on  a  stone  as  silently  and  stilly 

Stood,  an  apparent  sentinel,  as  if 

To  guard  the  water-lily." 

There  is  no  rest  for  these  waters.      The   moment 
they  cease  flowing  up  the  valley  their  downward  course 


PREFACE.  vii 

commences.  Tliis  acids  another  great  attraction  to  tlie 
stream :  the  hixnry  of  floating  aimlessly  np  or  down  as 
the  tide  listeth.  It  matters  not  that  it  is  the  same 
stream  ;  as  we  near  the  river  every  bend  presents  a  pict- 
ure, unlike  the  varied  landscape  before  us  as  we  return. 
What  greater  joy  than  floating  with  the  tide  ?  One 
becomes  as  the  water  itself,  hopeless  as  fate,  whether 
borne  oceanward  or  inland.  Indeed,  we  are  little  else 
than  tide -borne  creatures,  whatever  our  calling.  Our 
pitiless  surroundings  dictate  every  motion  of  the  hand, 
every  flush  of  the  intellect.  Man's  free  agency  is  equal 
to  that  of  the  rock-encased  toad  that  a  blast  in  the 
quarry  sets  at  freedom.  Freedom  !  the  toad's  first  leap 
will  be  determined  by  the  nearest  fly.  But  man  is  prac- 
tically free  who  does  not  feel  the  chafing  of  his  chains, 
and  should  ask  no  happier  fate.  Perhaps  it  may  seem 
trifling  and  unworthy  manhood  to  thus  drift  aimlessly 
along  ;  to  ])e  afloat  and  have  no  port  in  view.  It  is  less 
so  than  it  seems.  "Who  can  tell  at  what  moment  a  pass- 
ing breeze  may  lodge  us  upon  a  sand-bar ;  may  firmly  en- 
tangle us  among  the  branches  of  a  sunken  tree ;  may 
carry  us  from  the  main  channel  to  some  hitherto  unseen 
stream  known  far  better  to  the  bittern  and  the  musk- 
rat  than  to  man.  Are  not  any  and  all  these  ports,  if  I 
may  call  them  such,  of  sufticient  merit  to  be  worthy  of 
making?  What  treasures  may  there  not  be  there  in 
waiting !  The  wealth  for  wliich  we  sigh  may  often  be 
where  it  is  least  suspected.  If  we  chance  to  be  caught 
upon  a  sand-bar  or  a  waterlogged  tree,  let  it  be  to  the 
advantage  of  our  patience  to  await  cheerfully  for  the 
helpful  tide  to  set  us  free.  His  happiness  is  half  assured 
who  has  learned  to  be  patient.  Suppose  it  is  a  sand-bar 
that  has  checked  our  progress.  Is  this  a.  port  that  may 
not  be  advantageously  made?     What  is  a  sand-bar?     A 


viii  PREFACE. 

letter  in  the  short  alj)habet  of  geology.  It  tells  in  few 
words  of  the  growth  of  an  island,  the  silting  np  of  an 
ancient  channel  and  gradual  deepening  of  a  new  one. 
A  sand-bar  is  the  initial  point  in  the  growth  of  a  foot- 
hold for  man,  for  the  fructifying  sun  will  soon  prompt 
to  vigorous  growth  the  chance-lodged  seeds.  The  aquat- 
ic grasses  will  in  time  give  way  to  hardier  growths.  A 
tide-borne  acorn  will  become  an  oak,  and  wliere  in  cen- 
turies past  the  Indian  floated  his  canoe,  in  centuries  to 
come  the  farmer  will  guide  his  plough. 

If  earth  knowledge  is  desirable,  if  we  would  not  be 
stransrers  in  our  own  land,  let  us  not  think  ill  of  the  mis- 
chance  when  lodged  upon  a  sand-bar.  If  we  leave  it 
wiser,  we  leave  it  happier  ;  and  what  else,  pray,  has  life 
to  offer  ? 

If  the  reader  has  followed  me  thus  far,  he  knows  now 
the  approximate  metes  and  bounds  of  Mechen-tschiho- 
lens-sipu,  and,  what  is  of  more  importance,  the  author's 
impelling  motive  in  spending  so  many  days  and  even 
niohts  there  and  thereabout.  I  trust  that  the  reader's 
patience  is  not  exhausted  as  he  turns  this  page,  and  hope 
that  what  follows  may  meet  with  his  approbation. 

\j.    \j,    XI.. 

Pkospect  Hill,  Trenton,  N.  J., 
January  12, 1887. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
AT  LINDEN  BEND. 

Characteristic  Trees. — Water-tliriisbes.  —  Connecticut  Warblers.  — 
Natty  Fairtliorne's  Wild-goose  Chase.— Traditions  concerning  the 
Indians.  —  Song-thrush.  —  Quarrels  among  Birds. — Redstarts. — 
Yellow-bellied  Flycatchers. —Dead  Trees.  — Epidemic  of  Yeb 
low-fever,  in  1793.— Traces  of  Indian  Villages.— Yellow-breasted 
Chats Page  1 

CHAPTER  II. 
BUZZARD'S  EEST. 

Miles  Overficld.— Weather  Predictions. — Animal  Weather -lore.— 
Musk-rats. — Doctor's  Creek.— Characteristic  Trees.— Kingfishers. 
— Little  Green  Herons. — Night-herons. — Color-sense  of  Birds. — 
Recognition  of  Birds  of  Prey  by  small  Birds.— Turkey-buzzards. 
— Wild  Grape-vines. — Yellow -throated  Yireo. — Permanent  Mat- 
ing among  Birds.— The  Turk's-cap  Lily. —August  Flowers.— 
Stone  Catfish 21 

CHAPTER  IIL 
WATSON'S  CROSSING. 
Autumn  Leaves. —  Rocks. —Bowlders.  —Faxon's  Brook. —August 
Bloom.— Ilopniss  :  Indian's  Use  of  it. — Flowers.— Old  Wharves. 
—Story  of  Oconio's  Leap.— Anecdote  of  a  Summer  Warbler.— Of 
a  King- rail. —Water -snake. — Traces  of  Indian  Villages,  Trails, 
and  their  Handiwork.— Paleolithic  Man.— Eskimos.— Blooming 
Plants.— Red  Admiral  Butterfly.— Migration  of  Milk-weed  But- 
terfly. —  Dragon  -  flies.  —  Crosswicks  Sea  -  serpent.  —  Cuckoos.  — 
Night-hawks.— Brood  of  Winged  Ants 63 

A- 


X  CONTEXTS. 

CHAPTER  IV. 
SWAMP  WniTE-OAK  BEND. 

Carolina  "SVren. — Cardinal-grosbeak  as  a  Mimic. — Stranded  Fish. — 
Swamp  White-oaks. — A  Cunning  Musk-rat. — Eed-ej^ed  Vireo. — 
Summer  Warblers. ^Singing  of  Birds. — Young  Shad. — Indian 
Method  of  Fishing:  Loskiel's  Account;  Mahloa  Stacy's  Account. 
— Anecdote  of  a  Cat-bird. — Dodders. — Blackberries. — Red-bellied 
Woodpecker.— Traill's  Flycatcher Page  93 

CHAPTER  V. 
DEAD  WILLOW  BEND. 

Dew. — Spring  Flowers. — Audubon's  Wood-wren. — Water-snake. — 
Anecdote  of  AVren. — Willows. — Curious  Character  met  with  at 
the  Creek.— Greening  of  the  Willows. — Waste-land. — Bitterns. — 
Sense  of  Direction  of  many  Animals. — Coxcomb  Grass. — Cove- 
inlets. —  Song  -  sparrows. —  Turn  of  the  Tide. —  Indian  Relics. — 
Large  Fish:  their  former  greater  Abundance. — Tulip-trees. — Bea- 
ver-tree, or  Magnolia. — Black  Snake. — Box -tortoise. — Habits  of 
Young  Box-tortoise 116 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  TWIN  ISLANDS. 

Old  Houses  and  Furniture. — Florida  Gallinule. — Mastodon  Bones. 
— Quicksands:  Mink's  Opinion  thereof.  —  "Boiling"  Springs. — 
Clay. — Fossil-wood. — Amber. — Gold  Claimed  to  have  been  Found 
by  the  Indians. — Ornamented  Minnow^s. — Ilelenium  Autumnale. — 
Rail-birds. — Corn-crake. — Kino;birds. — Migration  of  Birds. — ^s- 
tivation  of  Animals.  —  Showers. — Rem.arkable  Rainfall,  and  its 
Effects 153 

CHAPTER  VII. 
MILL  CREEK. 

A  Lonely  Sand-piper. — Tree-climbing:  its  Merits  and  Disadvantages. 
— Wood-tattlers. — A  Nest  of  these  Birds  destroyed  by  a  Bull-frog. 
— Meadow-mice. — Bush-nests  of  White -footed  Mice. — Etheosto- 
moids.— Mythical  Fish  described  by  Early  Writers.— Bill-fish.— 
Sudden  Changes  of  the  Weather 190 


CONTENTS.  xi 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  LANDING. 

Cowpeu- birds. — Early  Kavi^iation  of  Crosswicks  Creek.  —  Snowy- 
Owls. — Adventure  of  Jeramy  Cumberford. — Springs:  Vegetation 
Peculiar  to  their  Vicinity. — Golden  Club. — Traces  of  Indian  Oc- 
cupation of  the  Place. — An  Old  Beech-tree. — Swarm  of  Bees. — 
Mosquitoes. — Velvet  Ant. — Burrows  of  Animals. — Caught  by  the 
Tide.— Food  of  Eels Parje  223 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  DKAWBRIDGE. 

TVorm-fences.— Dravv'bridge:  on  former  Site  of  an  Indian  Crossing. 
— Skirmish  here  during  Revolutionary  War. — Pearson's  Inn:  now 
"White  Horse"  Tavern.— Plum  Point. — Indian  Orchards.— Zool- 
ogy of  the  Bridge.— Swallows.— Reply  to  Captious  Criticism.— 
Shrikes. — January  Jubilees  of  the  Birds. — Abundance  of  Birds 
during  Winter.— Catalpas  :  probably  a  Native  Tree.— Blue-jays. 
—Vision  of  Fishes.— Voice  of  Fishes.— Conclusion  .     .     .     .255 

INDEX 303 


WASTE-LAND  AVANDERINGS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
AT  LINDEN  BEND. 


In  the  long,  low,  level  line  of  the  eastern  horizon 
there  is  a  jagged  break,  as  though  Nature's  artist,  when 
making  a  sweeping  outline,  had  caught  his  pencil-point. 
Here,  oozing  from  mossy  recesses  among  the  roots  of 
"  a  brotherhood  of  venerable  trees,"  the  waters  afar  off, 
in  that  pleasant  valley,  seek  the  light  through  many 
channels — nov/  rippling  over  golden  sands,  now  bub- 
bling over  snow-white  pebbles,  and  at  last  uniting  to 
form  a  sparkling  meadow-brook. 

Wooing  the  waters  from  a  thousand  springs,  nearer 
and  nearer  flows  the  growing  stream,  again  and  again 
checked  by  a  dam,  but  straightway  leaving  it  behind, 
as  unruffled  as  in  the  ages  when  men  were  not ;  and 
now  as  a  goodly  stream  —  one  worthy  of  a  name — it 
reaches  the  last  hinderance,  and  with  unchecked  flow 
leisurely  seeks  the  river. 

The  hum    of  machinery,  the  splasli  of  the  water- 
wheel,  the  roar  of  the  tumbling  waters,  as  in  a  solid, 
silvery  sheet  they  pour  over  the  dam — all  these  prosaic 
1 


2  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

reminders  that  civilization  was  near  at  hand  were 
quickly  out  of  sight  and  hearing  as  mj  boat  rounded 
an  abrupt  bend  of  the  creek  and  entered  a  little  forest 
of  linden,  hickory,  and  hornbeam.  A  few  scattered 
trees  of  other  kinds  are  also  to  be  seen,  but  those  I 
have  named  so  far  predominate  that  if  each  crook  in 
the  creek's  channel  must  have  a  name,  then  we  will  call 
this  one  Linden  Bend;  and  here,  at  sunrise,  July  29, 
1885, 1  commenced  these  studies  of  Mechen-tschiholens- 
sipu  (Big  Bird  Creek). 

The  dense  foliage  of  the  stately  lindens  and  hicko- 
ries, and  the  filling-in  of  every  interspace  by  the  horn- 
beams, throws  so  dark  a  shadow  as  to  give  to  the  spot  a 
gloomy  aspect;  yet  it  is  very  attractive.  Where  the 
channel  narrows,  so  that  the  branches  of  the  trees  upon 
its  banks  are  closely  interlocked,  the  sunlight  is  excluded 
during  summer  and  early  autumn,  often  for  considera- 
ble distances.  Flowers  are  wanting,  except  when  the 
rank  May-apple  .is  in  bloom,  and  later  the  honey-sweet 
blossoms  of  the  linden  scent  the  air  and  draw  millions 
of  bees  from  all  the  countr}^  round.  The  humming  of 
these  creatures,  as  they  are  busy  in  the  branches  over- 
head, drowns  all  other  sound,  dulling  even  the  clear 
whistling  of  the  crested  tit,  and  by  its  monotony  adds, 
in  early  summer,  to  the  gloom  of  Linden  Bend. 

I  have  said  there  were  no  flowers :  the  scattered  dog- 
woods must  not  be  overlooked.  Early  or  late  in  April, 
as  the  weather  permits,  these  sturdy  growths  fling  their 
torn,  milk-white  banners  to  the  breeze.  They  are  not 
always,  however,  signals  that  the  warfare  of  the  seasons 


AT  LIXDEX  BEXD.  3 

is  over.  Too  often  these  symbols  of  peace  are  lost  in 
tlie  drifts  of  an  April  snow-storm.  Many  very  large 
dog-woods  are  growing  in  a  near-by  swamj),  and  now, 
late  in  July,  are  sombre,  unsnggestiv^e  trees,  tlieir  size, 
shape,  and  sparse  foliage  alike  rendering  them  rpiite  in- 
conspicuons.  It  is  true,  they  prove  convenient  j^erches 
for  the  song- thrushes,  and  I  judge  are  favorite  trees  with 
these  birds  ;  but  once  out  of  bloom,  they  count  for 
nothing  with  the  rambler,  and  would  never  be  missed 
did  the  farmer  cut  them  all  down.  ]!^ot  so  in  early 
spring ;  then  they  are  richer  in  blossoms  than  in  leaves, 
and,  for  a  time,  the  most  conspicuous  feature  of  many  a 
sprout-land  and  of  the  creek's  shore  here. 

There  are  several  large  shrubs  the  white  bloom  of 
Vvdiich,  in  April  and  later,  compete  with  the  dog-wood 
in  floral  display ;  and  particularly  true  is  this  of  certain 
reaches  of  the  creek's  bank,  beyond  the  bend.  A  pretty 
arrow-wood  blooms  })i'ofusely  early  in  May,  and  often, 
at  its  side,  a  vigorous  thorn  cpiite  eclipses  its  more  mod- 
est neighbor. 

A  curious  growth  is  the  crooked  hornbeam.  Even 
the  youngest  sapling  has  a  jaded,  care-worn  look.  Many 
of  them  have  more  the  appearance  of  mossy  elk-horn 
than  of  wood.  It  may  be  said  to  grow  without  a  plan^ 
and  for  general  uncertainty  outranks  the  average  white 
man.  It  springs  from  the  ground,  closely  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  leans  over  it.  That  is  about  the  only  law  of 
its  growth.  Often,  where  the  main  stem  meets  with 
that  of  another  tree,  or  a  projecting  branch,  it  will  twine 
about  it  as  closely  as  a  vine,  and  so,  before  reaching  any 
considerable  size  except  length,  has  probably  turned  many 


4  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

angles  of  every  degree.  Another  peculiar  feature  is  the 
uniformity  of  the  diameter  of  the  trunk  for  an  unusual 
length;  in  this  respect  resembling  the  grape-vine  or 
poison  ivy.  An  hexagonal  stem  of  one  of  these  trees 
which  I  was  tempted  to  measure  is  uniformly  ten 
inches  in  circumference  for  twenty  feet.  It  bends 
sharply  at  two  points,  and  makes  a  shapely  letter  Z, 
slightly  tilted  upward,  and  so  far  resembles  the  "E" 
maple"  on  Poaetquissings  Creek,  some  miles  away. 

The  English  hornbeam,  which  is  also  called  "yoke- 
elm,"  like  the  American  form,  has  the  trunk  "usually 
flattened  and  twisted,  as  though  composed  of  several 
stems  united." 

Pulling  my  boat  ashore,  I  counted  fifty  of  these  trees, 
and  all  had  the  trunks,  for  a  space  of  a  foot  or  more 
from  the  ground,  either  quadrangular  or  pentagonal. 
Usually,  they  were  distinctly  diamond -shaped,  in  sec- 
tion, then  approaching  a  true  square,  and  from  this  be- 
coming hexagonal,  and  so  approaching  a  truly  cylindrical 
form ;  but  this  is  seldom  perfectly  acquired  except  by 
a  few  of  the  terminal  twigs. 

From  many  of  these  hornbeams  branches  could  have 
been  cut  bearing  a  marked  resemblance  to  a  deer's  ant- 
lers, and  so  would  be  of  use  for  hat-racks  where  the  gen- 
uine article  could  not  be  obtained. 

While  lingering  in  the  shade  of  these  dwarfed  trees, 
and  of  the  upreaching  lindens  about  and  beyond  them, 
I  was  struck  with  the  painful  silence  brooding,  at  the 
time,  over  all.  Do  such  localities  usually  have  a  de- 
pressing influence  over  animal  life,  particularly  bird- 


AT  LIXDEX  BEXD.  r. 


o 


life  ?  I  floated  with  tlie  tide  for  a  long  distance,  yet 
neither  heard  nor  saw  a  single  bird.  To  be  sure,  it  is 
July,  a  comparatively  birdless  month,  so  far  as  singing 
goes ;  but  I  doubt  if  another  stretch  of  creek  valley  in 
the  county  is  so  completely  deserted — cannot  at  least 
boast  of  a  crested  tit  or  a  song-sparrow. 

It  is  not  always  so.  Come  on  a  bright  May  morning 
wdien  the  leaves  are  half  grown,  and  see  the  northward- 
bound  warblers.  I  can  vividly  recall  one  sunny  May 
day,  twenty  years  ago,  when  I  floated  by  Linden  Bend 
for  the  first  time.  The  preceding  days  of  bright  sun- 
shine, followed  by  moonlit  nights,  had  l)rought  the  war- 
blers, and  never  since  have  I  seen  so  many  congregated 
in  a  limited  spot  as  there  were  then  among  the  lindens 
and  sloping  branches  of  the  crooked  hornbeams. 

Among  them,  conspicuous  for  their  numbers,  size,  and 
splendid  singing,  were  water-thrushes.  They  were  the 
southern  large -billed  species,  and,  in  l^ew  Jersey,  the 
least  abundant  of  the  three  kinds.  Evidently  a  number 
of  them  had  been  migrating  in  company,  but  whether 
still  on  the  move,  or  purjDOsing  to  remain,  I  did  not  de- 
termine. As  I  have  seen  a  few  individuals  about  the 
creek  every  summer  since  then,  it  is  probable  that  the 
greater  number  remained  during  the  summer  of  'G5. 
Certainly  the  sweetness  of  their  songs  and  general  air 
of  content  suggested  that  they  had  chosen  this  secluded 
nook  of  the  creek  valley  for  their  summer  home.  There 
is,  indeed,  nothing  remarkable  in  the  occasional  great 
abundance,  here  in  central  New  Jersey,  of  southern 
birds,  usually  rare,  or,  at  least,  not  common.  Such  in- 
stances I  have  noted  three  times  since  1860,  and  can 


6  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

only  make  bare  mention  of  the  fact  that  beyond  their 
numbers  they  offered  nothing  of  special  interest  to  the 
observer. 

To  return  to  these  water  -  thrushes  —  true  warblers, 
bear  in  mind — at  Linden  Bend.  The  incessant  see-saw 
of  their  tails,  as  they  w^alked  along  the  slo^Ding,  muddy 
shore,  or  tripped  the  whole  length  of  some  horizontal 
branch  of  hornbeam,  told  me  at  once  what  birds  they 
were,  and  but  for  one  curious  habit  they  miglit  have 
passed  unnoticed  among  the  hundreds  of  brilliantly  col- 
ored warblers  that  threaded  every  tangle  of  intermingled 
branches.  Possibly  because  these  more  active  species,  or, 
shall  I  say,  better  tree-climbers,  monopolized  the  choicer 
feeding -grounds,  the  water -thrushes,  or  wagtails,  took 
to  the  water,  and  with  swallow-like  dexterity  and  grace 
snapped  uj)  the  "  skaters,"  those  quick-motioned  spiders, 
until  scarcely  one  was  to  be  seen.  And  then,  at  inter- 
vals of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  these  birds  would  rise  to 
the  very  tops  of  the  tall  lindens  and  sing  a  few  bars  of 
w^ellnigh  matchless  melody.  Perhaps  I  am  extravagant 
in  sounding  its  praises,  but  it  was  music  that  grew  sweet- 
er with  each  repetition,  and  caused  the  songs  of  other 
birds  to  seem  commonplace  in  comparison,  and  this,  I 
take  it,  is  a  test  of  its  exceeding  merit. 

Hard  by  I  once  had  a  curious  adventure  with  a  cousin 
of  this  w^ater- thrush,  our  common  oven-bird.  The  day 
before,  I  lost  overboard  a  number  of  trout-flies,  tied  to- 
gether with  a  bit  of  fine  copper  wire.  The  buoyancy  of 
the  feathers  was  not  sufiicient  to  keep  them  afloat,  and, 
as  it  was  high  tide  at  the  time,  they  sunk  beyond  my 
reach.    I  revisited  the  spot  the  following  morning,  when 


AT  LIXDEX  BEXD.  7 

the  tide  was  out,  hoping  to  recover  them.  As  I  ap- 
proached I  saw  an  oven-bird  fluttering  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  water.  Its  efforts  to  escape  became  more  violent 
as  I  drew  near,  and  it  was  very  evident  that  the  bird  was 
a  prisoner.  Reaching  the  spot,  a  curious  spectacle  pre- 
sented itself.  A  large  shiner  had  evidently  swallowed 
one  of  the  trout-flies  as  they  sunk.  How  far  the  fish 
wandered  after  this  I  could  not  tell,  but  by  strange  good 
luck  it  had  finally  returned  to  the  place  where  the  hooks 
had  fallen,  and  caused  several  of  them  to  become  firmly 
fixed  in  a  slightly  projecting  tree-root.  One  hook  was 
yet  free,  and  this  the  oven-bird  had  mistaken  for  an  in- 
sect, and  seizing  it,  was  itself  securely  held.  The  advanc- 
ing tide  would  have  caused  a  double  tragedy,  and  I  was 
glad  to  prevent  the  certain  drowning  of  the  poor  bird. 
Releasing  it,  I  hoped  to  be  successful  in  retaining  it  as  a 
cage-bird,  but  it  proved  impracticable.  It  chirped  com- 
plainingly  all  that  day  and  through  the  night,  and  died 
at  sunrise  on  the  followino;  morninf)^. 

Perhaps  I  am  venturing  on  the  dangerous  ground  of 
generalizations,  but  I  believe  it  is  true  that  warblers 
cannot  be  tamed,  as  can  the  majority  of  finches  and 
thrushes.  I  have  tried,  time  and  again,  to  rear  summer 
warblers,  redstarts,  and  others  of  the  family,  but  never 
have  been  successful.  Thev  need  the  active  life  of  the 
woods  as  much  as  an  enormous  supply  of  living  insects. 
Those  that  I  atten:ipted  to  rear  were  sufiiciently  well 
fed,  but  the  curtailment  of  their  liberty  became  at 
once  depressing  after  they  Avere  fully  fledged,  and  death 
resulted  from  violently  beating  against  the  wires  of  the 
cage  in  their  efforts  to  acquire  freedom. 


8  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

To  return  to  the  creek.  Curiously  enough,  rare  as 
the  Connecticut  warbler  appears  to  be  in  so  many  places, 
yet  here,  in  October,  it  is  sure  to  be  found.  Perhaps 
earlier,  sometimes  even  later ;  for  the  southward  flight 
of  warblers  is  notoriously  irregular.  Here,  too,  it  sings. 
It  is  said  to  be  a  sad  and  silent  species,  but  finds  melo- 
dy in  its  heart  while  tarrying  at  Linden  Bend. 

Though  not  loud,  it  has  a  fully  expressed  song,  some- 
thing similar  to  that  of  our  common  yellow  warbler,  but 
with  more  notes ;  and  occasionally,  when  concealed  in  a 
tangle  of  smilax,  or  poison  ivy,  often  utters  a  shrill  chirp 
suggestive  of  a  larger  bird. 

Certainly,  during  their  autumnal  migrations,  birds  are 
not  much  given  to  singing,  but  if  their  southward  prog- 
ress is  checked,  and  they  tarry  for  more  than  a  day,  one 
will  often  hear  the  songs  of  the  past  nesting  season  re- 
peated. In  the  chinkapin  woods,  not  two  miles  away, 
I  have  heard,  in  October,  migrating  warblers  sing  as 
merrily  as  ever  they  sung  in  early  June.  Particularly  is 
this  true  of  the  beautiful  black-and-yellow  warbler,  and 
of  the  sprightly  green  black-capped  fly-catcher.  But  of 
all  our  migratory  birds  no  one  is  so  uncertain  in  this  re- 
spect as  the  wagtail.  I  have  often  watched  one  half  a 
day,  and  heard  nothing  but  an  occasional  chirp ;  yet  at 
other  times,  wdien  nutting  in  these  same  woods,  I  have 
been  charmed  with  its  song,  that  seemed  to  derive  ad- 
ditional sweetness  from  the  bracing  frostiness  of  early 
autumn. 

Here,  at  Linden  Bend,  it  was,  but  under  another  gen- 
eration of  trees,  that  Natty  Fairthorne  had  a  strange 


AT  LINDEN  BEND.  9 

wild-goose  cliase.  It  was  in  IN'ovember,  1791.  ISTatty 
liad  been  all  day  looking  for  ducks,  and  found  none.  An 
hour  before  sundown,  keenly  disappointed  and  some- 
what unsteady,  he  sculled  up  this  part  of  the  creek,  near 
which  he  lived.  When  at  AVatson's  Ford,  half  a  mile 
below,  it  began  to  snow,  and  before  he  reached  the  lin- 
dens "  the  air  was  thick."  At  length,  above  the  moan- 
ing of  the  wind  in  the  old  trees,  Natty  thought  he  heard 
the  "  honking  "  of  bewildered  geese.  At  once  he  Avas  a 
new  man,  and  on  the  alert.  The  suj^posed  cries  of  the 
geese  were  incessant,  and  surely  came  from  the  bend  at 
the  linden  woods.  Sculling  with  all  his  strength  in  that 
direction,  he  peered  into  the  outer  darkness,  and  finally 
felt  sure  that  he  saw  the  geese.  A  long,  dark  line,  close 
to  the  water,  was  moving  steadily  u^  the  creek,  and  above 
the  roar  of  the  wind  could  be  heard  their  Vv^ild  ^'honk- 
ing." Natty  steadied  his  boat,  took  deliberate  aim,  and 
fired.  Luckily  the  powder  flashed  in  the  pan.  Imme- 
diately the  voices  of  several  men  rang  through  the  air, 
and  a  belated  surveying  party,  some  of  whom  had  seen 
the  flash,  demanded  who  dared  attack  them. 

The  truth  was  soon  known,  and  Natty  promised  never 
again  to  shoot  at  geese  in  a  snow-storm.  The  surveyors^ 
singing  had  deceived  him,  and  he  always  insisted,  when 
twitted  about  his  goose-chase,  that  men  "who  couldn't 
sing  better  than  they  did  deserved  to  run  a  risk." 

I  have  searched  the  scanty  records,  but  in  vain.  Al- 
though the  north  bank  of  the  creek  is  very  steep,  and 
often  fifty  feet  high,  yet  nowhere  does  it  boast  of  a 
"  lover's  leap."    Score  this  to  the  credit  of  the  Quakers. 


10  WASTE-LAND  WANDEPwINGS. 

If  long  ages  before  tliem  the  Indians  living  along  tlie 
bold  north  shore  had  a  tradition  of  such  silUness  on  the 
part  of  one  of  their  maidens,  they  kept  it  carefully  to 
themselves,  for  all  which  we  may  be  devoutly  thankful. 
It  is  vaguely  hinted  in  one  old  record  tliat  here  tliere 
was  once  a  battle  fought  between  Indians  and  Indians. 
This  fact  seems  to  have  so  slightly  impressed  the  primi- 
tive chronicler  that  we  must  rest  content  with  so  bare  a 
statement  as  that  Linden  Bend  has  had  its  tragedy  ;  but 
as  to  every  particular,  ^'  lost  is  lost ;  gone  is  gone  for- 
ever." 

TVhile  yet  overshadowed  by  the  towering  lindens,  my 
course  was  suddenly  checked  by  some  unseen  obstacle 
that  took  firm  hold  of  my  little  boat.  I  had  run  upon 
a  sunken  tree,  the  boat  being  wedged  between  two  out- 
reaching,  arm-like  roots.  There  were  yet  hours  of  day- 
light, so  I  did  not  worry,  and  every  vestige  of  annoyance 
passed  away  when  a  song-thrush,  perched  upon  an  over- 
hanging bough,  sung  those  sweet  strains  of  which  one 
never  tires. 

Perhaps  nowhere  else  in  this  long  valley  could  a 
thrush  sing  to  better  advantage  than  here.  The  steep 
bluff  upon  one  side,  and  wall-like  setting  of  tall  trees 
upon  the  other,  resulted  in  its  song  being  distinctly  re- 
peated once,  and  a  second  fainter  echo  gave  back  the 
louder  notes.  This,  too,  late  in  July,  weeks  after  the 
care  of  nest  and  young  are  over.  The  bird  was  sing- 
ing solely  for  its  own  pleasure,  and  enjoyed,  I  am  sure, 
the  delightful  echoing  and  re-echoing  of  its  notes,  that 
filled  the  valley.     Indeed,  the  bird  often  stopped  sud- 


AT  LINDEN  BEXD.  11 

deiilj,  and  turning  its  head  to  one  side,  seemed  anxious 
to  catch  the  entire  repetition  of  some  few  strains  of  pe- 
culiar beauty  or  emphasis  which  it  had  just  uttered. 

In  all  my  wanderings  this  was  the  first  time  that  I 
had  heard  a  bird's  song  under  such  circumstances,  the 
nearest  approach  to  it  being  when  the  whippoorwill  sat 
upon  my  grandfather's  wood-pile  and  sung  the  livelong 
night.  Its  monotonous  song  was  indistinctly  echoed — 
but  that  w^as  nearly  forty  years  ago. 

I  Avas  willing,  if  need  be,  to  wait  until  the  incoming 
tide  released  me,  should  the  thrush  remain  singing.  This 
was  not  to  be.  I  was,  as  usual,  fated  to  have  some  un- 
welcome intruder  break  the  charm.  A  noisy  kingfisher 
came  hurrying  down  the  creek,  and  his  rattling  cry  not 
only  drowned  the  thrush's  voice,  but  drove  him,  in  dis- 
gust, to  the  near-by  woods.  The  new-comer's  harsh 
notes  were  echoed  to  perfection,  and  as  it  flew  on  a  de- 
jDressing  silence  brooded  over  the  creek.  Linden  Bend, 
for  the  time,  was  desolate,  until  my  splashing  and  rock- 
ing of  the  boat,  in  earnest  efforts  to  release  it,  caused 
the  creek  to  renew  its  usual  animation.  These  move- 
ments promptly  brought  in  part  the  hidden  life  to  the 
front,  to  see  what  might  be  the  cause  of  so  great  a  com- 
motion. An  enormous  bull-frog  popped  his  wondering 
eyes  above  the  water,  a  beautiful  snake  crawled  from 
the  creek  to  the  muddy  shore,  and  knowing  it  was  safe, 
stared  back  at  me  with  all  the  impudence  born  of  mock 
courage ;  fishes  leaped  into  the  air,  and  myriads  of  coal- 
black  scuttle-bugs  crowded  into  the  little  waves,  as  if  to 
enjoy  the  novelty  of  rocking  in  troubled  Avaters. 

This  is  not  an  uncommon  exj^eriencc.     Curiosity  is 


12 


WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 


well  develoj)ed  in  all  animals,  and  when  experience  lias 
not  taught  the  necessity  of  extreme  caution,  any  occur- 
rence outside  the  routine  of  their  methodical  lives  very 
generally  induces  them  to  come  forward  and  determine 
its  nature. 

A  capital  opportunity  to  determine  the  number  and 
species  of  birds  in  a  given  area  is  offered  whenever  a 
quarrel  occurs,  particularly  among  nesting  thrushes,  and 
this  is  quite  often.  Once  the  trouble  begins,  every  bird 
of  every  hind  will  hasten  thither.  More  than  once, 
probably  because  English  sparrows  put  in  an  appearance, 
I  have  known  such  quarrels  to  end  in  a  general  riot.  I 
once  saw  a  house- wren  become  so  excited  that  for  fully 
a  minute  it  was  dumb.  It  must  have  seemed  eternity 
to  that  bird. 

I  was  soon  again  afloat,  and  quietly  moving  onward, 
when  the  place  of  the  thrush  was  taken  by  a  j^retty  red- 
start ;  but  it  did  not  stay.  Once,  a  few  notes  were 
quickly  wdiistled,  and  the  bird  was  gone.  I  made  no 
effort  to  follow  its  erratic  passage  through  the  tree-tops. 
It  requires  sharper  eyes  and  a  more  nimble  body  than  I 
now  jDOSsess  to  do  this  satisfactorily. 

Kedstarts,  which  are  usually  abundant  from  spring 
until  late  in  autumn,  are  excellent  songsters,  and,  quite 
unlike  the  average  warbler,  are  as  merry  -  hearted  in 
August  as  in  May.  Strangely  enough,  very  few  people 
appear  to  know  them.  I  took  one,  not  long  ago,  from 
the  clutches  of  a  cat,  and  carried  it  all  day,  showing  it 
to  every  person  whom  I  met.  In  every  case,  but  one, 
I  was  asked  what  bird  it  was.  The  exception  declared 
it  to  be  a  barn-swallow. 


AT   LIXDEX  BEND.  13 

In  May  tlicy  build  the  daintiest  of  nests,  using  only 
choice  materials ;  fixing  them  among  forked  branches 
of  small  trees,  seldom  at  a  greater  height  than  six  or 
seven  feet.  The  supports  of  their  nests  are  always 
wrapped  with  an  abundance  of  tln-ead-like  fibres,  such 
as  require  the  very  sharpest  eyes  to  find.  Of  all  the 
many  nests  that  I  have  found,  none  have  been  so  far 
distant  from  water  that  the  sittino;  bird  could  not  look 
out  upon  it.  One  nest  was  in  a  button-bush,  that  fairly 
trembled  upon  the  brink  of  a  mill  -  dam,  nearly  thirty 
feet  in  height.  At  times,  the  wind  carried  back  great 
clouds  of  spray,  that  for  the  moment  enveloped  the 
bush ;  but  the  birds  were  never  discouraged,  and  the 
brood  was  successfully  reared.  Proximity  to  the  water 
does  not  hold  good  of  redstarts'  nests  the  country  over ; 
but  as  far  as  my  own  observation  goes,  the  birds  them- 
selves are  essentially  "water  warblers."  They  con- 
stantly visit  my  door-yard,  it  is  true ;  but  they  seem  to 
live  by  the  creek-side.  It  is  the  relative  abundance  of 
insect  life  that  decides  the  question  with  them,  and  is 
n,ot  this,  as  a  rule,  near  ponds  and  ditches  rather  than 
npland  fields — the  creek  and  river  rather  than  the  forest  ? 
At  all  events,  since  the  first  of  their  kind,  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  warbler  era,  gave  chase  to  a  fly,  their  appetites 
have  never  been  satisfied. 

It  is  said  of  these  birds  that  they  will  chase  insects 
wdiile  you  are  very  near  their  nests,  but  their  love  of  a 
tidbit  will  sometimes  carry  them  still  farther.  I  once 
saw  one  drop  a  beakful  of  fluffy  nesting  material  to 
chase  a  fly.  As  it  did  so,  a  summer  warbler  seized  the 
falling  bit  and  made  off.     The  redstart  caught  the  fly, 


14  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

pursued  the  warbler,  secured  the  nesting  stuff  as  it  fell, 
and  carried  it  in  triumph  to  its  unfinished  nest. 

As  we  have  seen,  the  little  redstart,  unlike  the  inter- 
rupted thrush,  could  not  sit  still,  and  so  it  is  ahva)^s.  I 
can  only  think  of  them  as  twisting,  turning,  and  run- 
ning, creej^er  -  like,  around  the  branches,  varying  these 
movements  continually  with  sudden  sallies  into  the  air, 
yet  never  so  far  absorbed  in  insect-hunting  as  not  to 
find  time  to  utter  a  few  clear  notes,  worthy  to  be  called 
a  song. 

Probably  no  one  of  the  warblers  captures,  daily,  so 
many  insects  as  does  this  species.  I  tried  once  to  count 
the  clickings  of  a  redstart's  beak,  and  so  estimate  the 
number  of  flies  that  it  caught,  in  a  given  time ;  but  it 
proved  a  hopeless  task.  The  bird's  beak  snapped  with 
all  the  regularity  and  nearly  the  rapidity  of  the  ticking 
of  my  watch.  It  was  making  a  most  unsubstantial  meal 
from  a  cloud  of  May-fiies.  What  warbler,  besides  this, 
can  gracefully  turn  a  somersault,  and  often  does  so,  either 
for  convenience  or  fun  ?  It  is  the  erratic  flight  of  the 
pursued  insects  that  has  taught  the  redstart  to  perform 
this  remarkable  aerial  manoeuvre ;  and  yet  it  is  diflicult 
to  see  how  this  circular  course  could  be  of  use.  Often, 
I  believe,  it  is  a  mere  matter  of  play,  for  the  thoughts 
of  the  redstart  do  not  run  exclusively  in  the  one  prosy 
groove  of  eating. 

Often,  in  early  summer  particularly,  I  have  seen  the 
bird  fly  directly  out  from  an  outreaching  branch,  then 
close  its  wings  and  dive  downward  and  backward,  and 
reopen  its  wings  as  it  mounted  upward  again.  The 
course  of  the  flight  was  an  elongated  oval,  and  the  bird 


AT   LINDEX  BEND.  15 

regained  its  proper  j^osition  witliin  a  few  inches  of  tlie 
point  where  its  downward  course  commenced. 

The  redstart  gave  phice  to  a  much  rarer  and  no  less 
interesting  little  bird — the  yellow-bellied  flj-catcher.  It 
came,  scolded,  sulked,  and  was  about  to  depart,  when  it 
was  joined  by  another,  possibly  its  mate,  if  so  be  it,  like 
some  birds,  they  remain  mated  from  season  to  season. 
These  were  silent,  so  far  as  true  singing  goes,  yet  were 
sufficiently  lively  to  recall  another  pair  I  saw  in  June, 
to  which  I  was  attracted  by  their  loud  chattering.  On 
a  near  approach,  I  found  them  bobbing  their  heads,  flut- 
tering their  wings,  and  impatiently  dancing  in  a  manner 
that  gave  unmistakable  evidence  of  a  very  far  from  am- 
icable dispute.  Their  noise,  indeed,  brought  other  birds 
to  the  scene,  and  soon  a  number  of  summer  warblers, 
song-sparrows,  titmice,  and  cat-birds,  were  hopping  about 
the  trees  and  underbrush,  intent  upon  learning  all  the 
particulars,  or  pretending  to  know  them.  It  most  vivid- 
ly recalled  the  apparently  instant  appearance  of  every 
woman  in  the  village  when  my  horse  ran  away  and  land- 
ed me  in  the  duck-pond  on  the  common.  Had  I  not  re- 
sisted, my  escape  from  the  waters  of  the  pond  would  have 
been  promptly  followed  by  drowning  in  a  deluge  of  house- 
hold liniments,  camphor,  balsam -apple,  and  hartshorn. 

Among  the  many  birds  I  have  mentioned,  curiosity 
cropped  out,  just  as  it  did  among  lower  animals,  not  an 
hour  ago. 

At  last,  the  fly-catchers'  quarrel  came  to  an  end.  One 
of  them  remained  comj^aratively  quiet,  while  the  other, 
as  if  rejoicing  over  a  victory,  sung,  in  his  own  quaint 
manner,  "  Chesapeake,  O  Chesapeake !" 


16  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

Then,  as  now,  afloat,  I  very  slowly  urged  my  boat  for- 
ward, and  was  soon  directly  beneatli  tlie  songster.  This 
he  did  not  like,  and  flew  down  the  creek,  but  not  so  far 
away  that  I  could  not  hear  him  above  the  cawing  of 
crows  and  chatter  of  blackbirds  in  the  marsh,  sino^ino;', 
without  an  alteration  of  any  note,  "  Chesapeake,  O  Ches- 
apeake !" 

Rowing  bnt  a  fev/  rods  farther,  the  limits  of  the  leafy 
Linden  Bend  were  passed  and  I  entered  an  oj^en  mead- 
ow. The  change  was  as  abrupt  as  painful.  But  tlie 
grassy  banks  were  on  a  level  with  my  eyes,  and  I  looked 
upward  and  onward,  seeing  only  the  cloud-flecked  sky 
and  distant,  shadowy  woods.  Stay  !  there  was  one  tree, 
a  tall,  dead  tulip.  Saved  for  the  shade  it  cast,  for  long 
years  it  was  the  shelter  of  the  cows  when  summer  show- 
ers passed,  their  noontide  retreat  from  fierce  midsum- 
mer suns.  For  a  decade  it  has  stood,  leafless,  and  more 
shattered  by  each  winter's  storm,  until  now  it  is  but  the 
merest  gliost  of  its  former  self.  Such  trees  do  not  mar 
a  landscape.  They  are  not  disgusting.  They  turn  to 
dust  in  a  becoming  manner,  offending  neither  eye  nor 
nostril.  The  dignity  that  encompassed  them  as  aged 
trees  clings  to  them  still,  though  bared  of  every  branch. 
The  many  mysteries  of  years  gone  by — where  fled  the 
squirrels  that  I  saw  but  as  swift  shadows — where  hid 
the  woodpeckers  whose  tapping  I  heard,  yet  failed  to 
see  them  at  work — from  what  nook  issued  the  complain- 
ing owl — where  fled  the  honey-laden  bees — all  these 
sources  of  wonderment,  that  filled  the  hours  of  many 
a  ramble,  are  now  revealed.  The  holes  and  hollows  of 
the  dead,  decaying  tree  are  no  longer  hidden  retreats  of 


AT  LINDEN  BEND.  17 

mammal,  bird,  or  bee.  The  prying  sunsliine  gives  xi]) 
tlieir  secret.  Here,  then,  it  was  that  many  a  creatm-e 
looked  out  at  me  and  laughed,  while  I  stood  wondering 
where  they  might  be  hidden. 

To  be  sure,  a  dead  tree  is  an  uncanny  prophet.  It 
bids  me  look  to  the  future ;  but,  surrounded  by  the 
sights  and  sounds  of  untamed  nature,  my  pulses  shall 
beat  no  less  firmly  because  they  cannot  beat  forever.  I 
can  gather  buttercups  and  chase  butterflies  in  a  grave- 
yard without  stopping  to  read  hie  jacet  upon  every 
tombstone.  This  world  is  too  full  of  offerings  to  quit 
Avork  and  w^onder  if  the  next  is  even  fuller.  I  once 
gathered  a  fern,  a  sprouted  acorn,  and  a  bluet  from  Tho- 
reau's  grave,  without  wondering,  at  the  time,  if  he  were 
then  gathering  greener  growths  on  the  pleasant  hill-sides 
of  another  world. 

Wherever  I  chance  to  be,  give  me  living,  stately 
trees— trees  that  peeped  through  the  sod  and  saw  the 
sunrise  of  an  earlier  century.  Among  them,  and  among 
them  only,  can  I  be  alone ;  man's  handiwork,  here,  has 
marred  all  other  scenes ;  and  the  ocean  and  the  prairie 
are  beyond  my  reach. 

This  weedy,  bush-grown,  long-neglected  pasture,  which 
gave  evidence  of  nothing  but  a  most  prosaic  history,  still 
contains  the  evidences  of  stirring  scenes  enacted  here 
less  than  a  century  ago;  and  long  ages  prior  to  that, 
this  same  lonely  pasture  was  the  site  of  an  Indian  vil- 
lage. 

The  only  victims,  among  the  residents  of  this  valley, 
of  the  yellow-fever  epidemic  of  1793,  died  in  a  small 


18  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

farm-liouse,  still  standing  some  distance  back  from  the 
creek — a  house  with  a  history,  of  which  more  here- 
after. 

In  the  pasture  between  it  and  the  creek,  a  number  of 
Philadelphians,  in  '93,  encamped  for  a  time,  while  the 
scourge  was  raging  in  the  city.  Some  years  after,  the 
circumstance  having  been  forgotten,  Charles  Lucien  Bo- 
naparte, having  noticed  a  number  of  diminutive  earth- 
works, had  a  careful  examination  made  of  the  sjDot,  un- 
der the  impression  that  an  Indian  village  site  had  been 
discovered.  Yery  soon  a  few  arrow-heads  were  found, 
and  much  burnt  earth  and  charcoal.  The  prince  was 
delio:hted,  and  arrano-ed  for  an  exhaustive  search  over 
the  entire  area;  and  soon  after,  an  abundance  of  glass 
and  glazed  pottery  was  brought  to  light.  The  enthu- 
siasm of  the  prince  became  disgust,  and  subsequently  his 
attention  was  given  wholly  to  zoology. 

After  all,  he  was  ric^ht.  Although  the  circular  rido^es 
and  one  low  mound  were  the  work  of  the  Phihidel- 
phians,  the  meadow  was  an  Indian  village  site.  Re- 
cently, one  portion  was  badly  gullied  by  a  freshet,  and 
immediatelv  afterwards  I  found  abundant  traces  of  the 
dusky  savages.  Recalling  this,  I  landed  here  and  walked 
for  half  an  hour  over  every  spot  where  the  sod  was 
broken.  Relics  of  Indians  were  as  abundant  as  ever, 
but  not  a  trace  of  the  Philadelphians. 

Returning  to  the  boat,  I  pushed  out  from  these  sug- 
gestive shores,  and  passing  a  dense  cluster  of  arrow- 
wood,  startled  a  lonely  chat,  perhaps  the  last  of  the  sea- 
son. I  waited  long,  in  hopes  that  it  would  sing,  but  it 
would  not.     Approaching  cautiously,  I  obtained  a  better 


AT  LIXDEX  BEXD.  19 

view  of  tlie  bird,  and  was  miicli  interested  in  its  strange 
actions.  At  irregular  intervals  it  threw  back  its  head, 
and  with  its  beak  pointing  directly  upward,  uttered  a 
peculiar  and  rather  faint  cluck  I  that  recalled  the  cry 
of  a  night-heron  when  a  long  way  off.  Had  I  not  seen 
the  bird,  I  should  never  have  imagined  the  sound  was 
uttered  within  a  boat's -length  of  nie.  Ventriloquism, 
however,  is  not  confined  to  the  yellow-breasted  chat. 

Chats  were  unusually  abundant  two  months  ago,  along 
the  hill -side,  and,  indeed,  wherever  blackberry  canes 
were  densely  clustered.  Their  singing,  if  one  may  call 
it  that,  was  amusing,  but  became  tiresome  at  last,  and 
fairly  annoying  at  times,  when  the  strains  of  the  thrush 
and  rose-breasted  grosbeak  were  marred  by  it. 

One  of  these  chats  selected  a  branch  of  a  small  locust 
in  the  garden  as  his  perch,  and  with  all  the  regularity 
of  clock-work,  amused  his  nesting  mate,  throughout  the 
gloaming,  by  his  endless  series  of  strange  utterances  and 
curious  antics.  His  ventriloquial  power  was  remark- 
able.    It  suggested  the  following : 

A  mournful  cry  from  the  tliicket  here, 

A  scream  from  the  fields  afar; 
The  chu-p  of  a  summer  warbler  near, 
Of  a  spring- tide  song  a  bar; 
Then  rattle  and  rasp, 

A  groan,  a  laugh. 
Till  we  fail  to  grasp 
These  sounds,  by  half, 
That  come  from  the  throat  of  the  ghostly  chat, 
An  imp,  if  there  is  one,  be  sure  of  that. 

Aloft  in  the  sunny  air  he  springs; 
To  his  timid  mate  he  calls; 


20  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

With  dangling  legs  and  fluttering  wings, 
On  the  tangled  smilax  falls; 

He  mutters,  he  shrieks — 

A  hopeless  cry; 
You  think  that  he  seeks, 
In  peace,  to  die, 
But  pity  him  not;  'tis  the  ghostly  chat. 
An  imp,  if  there  is  one,  rest  sure  of  that. 

Afar  in  the  gloomy  swam.p,  where  flits 

The  Will-o'-the-wisp  by  night; 
This  elf,  a-dreaming,  restless  sits, 
And  mutters  his  strange  delight. 
In  quavers  and  sharps^ 

And  flute-like  note, 
With  the  twang  of  harps; 
That  swell  the  throat 
Of  the  mystical,  weird,  uncanny  chat. 
In  league  with  foul  spirits,  I'm  sure  of  that. 

The  sun  was  now  sinking  behind  the  tall  wild-rice  of 
the  distant  marshes ;  the  linden  -  shaded  reach  of  the 
creek  behind  me  was  an  abode  of  darkness ;  the  day  was 
done. 

Turning  mj  boat  to  the  convenient  shelter  of  an 
overhanging  elm,  I  wended  my  way  homeward,  over 
many  a  dusty  field,  pleasing  myself  with  the  thought 
that  no  spot  could  prove  more  satisfying  than  these 
bird-beloved  windings  of  Mechen-tschiholens-sijDii. 


CHAPTER  II. 
BUZZARD'S  REST. 


The  blackness  of  night  hung  over  the  east,  when — to 
please  me,  at  least — it  should  have  been  brilliant  with 
the  sun's  cheery  rays.  ^'  Would  it  rain  ?"  I  asked  my- 
self at  every  step,  and  scores  of  times  paused  to  see  if 
Nature  did  not  somewhere  throw  out  to  me  a  hint.  "  A 
gray  east  is  a  dry  day,"  my  neighbors  persist  in  saying, 
but  could  I  be  sure  of  this '{  Then  there  was  the  rhyme 
about  ''  Evening  red  and  morning  gray,"  and  all  that ; 
but  here  was  a  blue-black  east,  and  a  generally  smoke- 
colored  outlook,  and  1  knew  not  what  it  meant. 

There  are,  I  think,  weather  sayings  enough  still  cur- 
rent in  this  neighborhood  to  make  a  portly  volume,  and 
accepted  by  my  neighbors  as  of  greater  reliability  than 
the  daily  reports  in  the  morning  papers.  I  could,  how- 
ever, recall  none  that  fitted  this  peculiar  August  morn- 
ing, and  wished  I  had  Miles  Overfield's  opinion,  not  so 
much  for  its  intrinsic  value  as  a  matter  of  curiosity.  ''  I 
do  not  see,"  Miles  once  remarked,  "that  this  newspaper 
weather  business  amounts  to  much.  The  old-fashioned 
almanacs  had  it  down  for  a  whole  year,  and  in  handier 
shape." 

"  But  not  quite  so  reliable,"  I  suggested. 

"  It  was  as  near  right  as  you  get  it  now,"  he  replied, 
Avitli  great  earnestness.     "  Of  course,  once  in  a  while 


33  WASTE-LAND   WANDEEIXGS. 

you  Lad  to  kind  o'  twist  the  words  about  to  make  it 

fit." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  I  replied. 

''  But  not  much  more  than  nowadays,"  he  continued. 
"I'm  not  goin'  back  on  father's  old  almanacs  and  the 
moon.  I've  nothin'  agin  book-learnin',  but  somehow^  it 
comes  back  to  me  you  stayed  home  once  in  October,  and 
I  got  the  quails,  and  stayed  home  not  long  ago,  and  I 
caught  the  big  bass ;"  and  Miles  looked  happy  when  he 
finished  his  little  speech. 

It  was  all  true  enough,  but  I  subsequently  tested  his 
ability  as  a  weather  prophet,  and  summing  up  the  mat- 
ter at  the  end  of  six  months,  found  that  just  thirty-five 
per  cent,  of  his  predictions  were  correct. 

I  told  him  this,  and  he  was  by  no  means  discomfited. 
"  One-third  right !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Well,  if  I  size  up 
one-third  right  at  the  final  reckonin'  I  guess  the  Lord 
will  accept  t'other  two-thirds." 

I  recalled- this  as  I  walked  towards  the  creek,  and  the 
time  p>assed  so  pleasantly  that  I  forgot  the  weather  of 
the  moment,  and  the  fact  that  as  I  left  the  house  the 
old  mercury  barometer  was  "falling"  and  the  wind 
south- w^est.  The  grass  was  dry,  too — another  bad  sign ; 
but  perhaps  the  clouds  were  but  the  edge  of  a  storm 
that  had  spent  its  fury  over  other  regions.  Although 
every  indication  favored  rain,  yet  there  was  a  chance 
that  it  might  not,  and  these  "  chances  "  prove  so  often 
to  be  delightful  days  that  I  always  take  them.  In  the 
course  of  a  year,  I  gain  far  more  outings  than  I  get  soak- 
ings.  Let  it  be  borne  in  mind,  too,  that  a  rainy  day  in 
the  woods  is  better  than  a  fretful  one  in  the  house. 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  23 

And  liere  let  me  say  sometliiiig  concerning  the  ani- 
mal weatlier-lore  current  in  this  neio-hborhood. 

Happily  there  still  remain  a  few  of  those  great,  cav- 
ernous, open  fireplaces,  flanked  by  high-backed  settles, 
whereon  the  young  people  love  to  lounge  while  their 
elders,  resting  from  the  day's  labors,  talk  drowsily  of  old 
times,  recount  the  adventures  of  their  youth,  and  repeat 
the  tales  of  their  grandfathers.  As  one  of  such  young 
people,  I  have  passed  many  long  winter  evenings,  listen- 
ing eagerly  to  what  the  septuagenarians  might  relate, 
and  occasionally  venturing  a  question  or  two,  that  more 
light  might  be  thrown  upon  obscure  portions  of  remarks 
made  at  the  time.  Then,  particularly,  are  we  likely  to 
hear  much  of  that  very  curious  animal  weather-lore  that 
for  the  past  two  centuries  has  been  handed  down  from 
father  to  son.  Time  and  again,  as  the  weather  chanced 
to  be  discussed,  I  have  heard  some  uncouth  rhyme  re- 
peated, usually  prefaced  with  the  remark,  "  You  know 
the  old  saying." 

That  all  animals  are  more  or  less  affected  by  coming 
atmospheric  changes  is  uncpiestionable.  This  simple 
fact  has  been  recognized  the  world  over,  but,  unlike 
many  other  simple  facts,  has  not  resulted  in  leading  to 
any  important  discoveries.  It  has,  however,  given  rise 
to  the  innumerable  sayings  to  which  I  have  referred. 

Inasmuch  as  the  animal  weather-lore  current  in  Eno;- 
land  and  Sweden  dates  far  prior  to  the  settlement  of 
this  country  by  the  Swedes  and  English,  it  would  seem 
probable  that  such  sayings  as  now  are  or  recently  were 
current  in  south  and  central  New  Jersey  are  merely 
adaptations  of  English  and  Swedish  weather-lore  to  our 


24  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

fauna,  just  as  the  European  names  of  tlie  commoner 
birds  found  there  were  applied  to  those  American  spe- 
cies most  closely  resembling  them ;  and  so,  any  rhyme 
or  brief  saying  referring  to  them  would  be  applied  to 
the  analogous  bird  found  here.  This  is  eminently  rea- 
sonable, for,  if  the  given  habit,  voice,  or  other  peculiarity 
of  a  European  bird  did,  or  was  supposed  to,  indicate 
a  given  meteorological  condition,  the  same  rule  should 
hold  good  in  America.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  I 
can  find  no  similarity  between  the  English  and  Swedish 
and  the  American  weather-lore,  except  such  as  applies 
to  domestic  animals ;  nor  do  I  find  any  common  Eng- 
lish sayings  in  use. 

That  which  I  have  heard,  and  have  recorded  from 
time  to  time,  appears  to  have  originated  where  it  now 
is,  or  lately  was,  in  use.  To  a  great  extent,  I  believe  it 
to  be  original  with  the  descendants  of  the  immigrants 
that  settled  central  Xew  Jersey  and  the  country  gener- 
ally about  Philadelj)hia  ;  but  a  portion  of  it,  very  possi- 
bly, was  derived  from  the  Indians. 

At  present,  a  portion  of  this  weather-lore  is  repeated 
as  nursery  rhymes,  and  it  is  due  to  this  that  it  has  been 
preserved  to  the  present  time ;  and,  so  far  as  I  have 
been  able  to  determine,  not  one  of  the  rhymes  or  say- 
ings has  ever  been  published.  That  among  the  earliest 
papers  and  almanacs  of  the  country  there  may  be  found 
some  of  them,  or  slightly  different  versions  of  the  same, 
is  probable,  but  my  searchings  therefor,  in  the  larger  li- 
braries, have  not  resulted  in  any  such  discoveries. 

The  main  interest,  however,  in  connection  with  weath- 
er-lore is  to  determine  vrhether  they  do  or  do  not  cor- 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  25 

rectly  represent  the  relationship  of  the  animals  men- 
tioned to  the  given  condition  of  the  weather.  In  other 
words,  is  the  zoology  of  the  weather-lore  misrepresented 
or  not  ?  I  am  forced  to  declare  that,  as  a  rule,  those 
who  by  virtue  of  their  ingenuity  framed  these  rhymes 
and  brief  sayings  did  not  correctly  interpret  ISTature. 

Very  many  of  the  early  English  settlers  were,  no 
doubt,  excellent  observers ;  but  they  appear,  at  times, 
to  have  more  desired  to  be  looked  upon  as  weather 
prophets  than  as  naturalists,  and  strove  to  have  glib  non- 
sense sayings  pass  current  as  evidence  of  their  wisdom 
instead  of  taking  pains  to  correctly  interpret  the  course 
of  Nature  and  determine  the  relation  of  animal  life  to 
its  environment. 

Often,  during  my  rambles  in  the  neighborhood,  I  have 
questioned  the  few  remaining  descendants  of  the  origi- 
nal settlers  concerning  the  local  weather  proverbs,  and 
I  lind  the  impression  is  still  prevalent  that  the  purport 
of  all  these  sayings  is  substantially  correct,  and  there- 
fore, to  a  great  degree,  that  my  neighbors  are  laboring 
under  erroneous  impressions.  "Is  there  not  wisdom  in 
a  multitude  of  counsellors  ?"  they  ask ;  and  I,  standing 
alone,  am  voted  the  fool,  while  they  pose  as  sages. 

Let  us  consider  this  weather-lore,  bit  by  bit,  as  I  have 
gathered  it  from  time  to  time,  and  discuss  its  merits,  if 
it  possess  any,  and  also  its  absurdities. 

Of  such  sayings  as  refer  to  our  domestic  animals,  the 
following  are  the  most  noteworthy.  Of  the  cow,  I  have 
heard  it  said : 

"When  a  cow  tries  to  scratch  its  ear, 
It  means  a  shower  is  very  near;" 

2 


26  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

and  again — 

"  When  it  thumps  its  ribs  with  its  tail, 
Look  out  for  thunder,  lightning,  hail." 

As  is  now  pretty  well  known,  a  short  time  before  a 
shower  in  summer  there  is  often  a  highly  electrical 
condition  of  the  atmosphere,  which  makes  all  animals 
more  or  less  uneasy.  Therefore,  the  lashing  of  the  tail, 
if  not  merely  to  brush  away  flies,  may  refer  to  this 
uneasiness,  and  so,  too,  the  ears  may  be  more  sensitiv^e 
than  the  general  surface  of  the  body.  This  is  a  proba- 
ble explanation,  but,  after  all,  it  is  not  proved  that  the 
cow  at  such  a  time  suffers  as  much  from  it  as  is  sup- 
posed ;  nor  is  it  easy  to  see  how  the  flagellation  of  a 
very  insignificant  part  of  the  body  can  ease  a  painful 
sensation  common  to  the  entire  surface.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  certain  that  flies  and  other  troublesome  in- 
sects are  sensitive  to  atmospheric  changes,  even  a  slight 
lowering  of  the  temperature,  such  as  no  mammal  would 
appreciate ;  and  for  an  hour  or  two  before  a  shower,  for 
this  reason,  they  congregate  in  extraordinary  numbers 
about  animals  —  horses  and  cows  particularly.  I  have 
thought  that  they  seek  the  cows  for  warmth  when  the 
air  suddenly  cools ;  and  is  it  not  more  than  probable 
that  the  nervousness  on  the  part  of  the  animal,  shown 
by  frantic  efforts  to  scratch  its  ears  with  its  hind-feet 
and  the  lashing  of  its  tail,  has  to  do  with  the  excess  of 
irritation  caused  by  innumerable  flies,  and  not  with  any 
unusual  electrical  titillation  ?  If  so,  the  cow's  action  is 
still  indicative  of  an  approaching  change  in. the  w^eather, 
and  so  far  may  be  claimed  as  a  sign  of  such  change ;  but 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  27 

tlie  connection  of  tlie  two  facts  is  not  sucli  a  one  as  is 
usually  given.  It  is  an  indirect,  not  direct,  indication 
of  the  prophesied  rain-storm.  But  bearing  heavily  on 
the  subject  is  the  unquestionable  fact  that  an  unusual 
number  of  flies  often  suddenly  make  their  appearance, 
and  torment  cattle  almost  beyond  endurance,  during  the 
four  or  six  weeks  of  drought  which,  in  summer,  early  or 
late,  we  are  so  sure  to  have.  In  such  cases  the  signs 
fail.  I  have  asked  many  a  farmer  how  this  could  be, 
and  the  one  reply  that  I  have  received  in  every  case  is 
that  "  there  was  a  shower  in  the  neighborhood."  It 
usually  happened,  however,  that  the  neighborhood  was 
as  parched  as  we  were,  and,  seeing  the  signs  fail  with 
them,  they  were  covetous  of  the  shower  they  supposed 
that  we  had  had.  Perhaps  it  is  with  such  indications  of 
chancres  in  the  weather  as  it  has  been  said  of  autumnal 
proofs  of  the  character  of  the  a^^proaching  winter. 
Miles  Overfield  once  remarked,  "When  the  signs  get  to 
failin'  'long  in  the  fall,  there'll  be  no  tell  in'  about  the 
winter." 

Of  pigs  I  have  heard  it  said,  very  frequently, 

""When  swine  carry  sticks, 
The  clouds  will  play  tricks;" 

but  that — 

"When  they  lie  in  the  mud, 
No  fears  of  a  flood. " 

The  first  of  these  couplets  is  of  twofold  interest.  I 
have  watched  them  for  years,  to  see  what  purport  this 
carrying  of  sticks  and  bunches  of  grass  might  have,  and 
have  only  learned  that  it  has  nothiug  whatever  to  do 


28  WASTE-LAND  WANDERIXGS. 

with  the  weather,  or  at  least  with  coming  rain-storms. 
The  drought  of  summer  is  so  far  a  convenience  as  to 
throw  light  upon  this  habit,  as  it  did  upon  the  uneasy 
cows.  Pigs  carry  sticks  as  frequently  then  as  during 
wet  weather,  or  just  preceding  a  shower.  Furthermore, 
these  gathered  twigs  are  not  brought  together  as  though 
to  make  a  nest,  but  are  scattered  about  in  a  perfectly 
aimless  manner.  From  some  cause,  the  animal  is  uneasy, 
and  takes  this  curious  method  of  relieving  itself.  The 
probabilities  are  that  it  is  a  survival  of  some  habit 
common  to  swine  in  their  feral  condition,  just  as  we 
see  a  dog  turn  about  half  a  dozen  times  before  lying 

down. 

In  an  interesting  paper  on  local  weather-lore,  read  by 
Mr.  Amos  W.  Butler  before  the  American  Association 
for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  during  the  Philadel- 
phia meeting  of  ISStt,  the  author  has  another  version  of 
this  saying:  "When  hogs  gather  up  sticks  and  carry 
them  about,  expect  cold  weather."  This  is  wholly  at 
variance  with  what  I  have  observed,  for  my  memoranda 
record  this  habit  almost  wholly  during  the  hot  weather, 
and  this  must  necessarily  be  the  rule  with  ^New  Jersey 
swine,  or  the  local  w^eather  prophets  would  not  have 
coined  the  verse  as  I  have  given  it. 

As  to  the  other  couplet,  it  is  about  as  near  meaning- 
less as  any  saying  can  well  be.  Some  rustic  rhymer,  a 
century  ago,  may  have  added  it  as  a  piece  of  fun,  but  it 
has  stuck  most  persistently.  As  it  stands  now,  it  has 
stood  for  quite  one  hundred  years. 

In  reference  to  the  dog,  I  have  heard  the  following 
more  pretentious  stanza,  which  has  now  taken  its  place 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  29 

among  our  nursery  rhymes,  wliere^  indeed,  it  is  best 
fitted  to  remain  : 

"  When  drowsy  dogs  start  from  their  sleep, 
And  bark  at  empty  space, 
'Tis  not  a  dream  that  prompts  them  to. 
But  showers  come  on  apace." 

Here  we  have  essentially  the  same  inference  as  in  that 
of  the  rhyme  about  cows,  but  it  is  not  to  be  explained 
away  so  readily.  Such  acts,  as  described,  cannot  be  at- 
tributed to  annoyance  by  flies,  for  they,  too,  often  emerge 
from  dark  quarters,  where  they  have  been  unmolested ; 
but  the  all-im]3ortant  fact  must  not  be  overlooked  that 
such  acts  are  not  confined  to  summer.  If  they  were, 
the  electrical  theory  might  be  advanced  with  some  con- 
fidence. From  what  I  have  noticed  in  such  dogs  as  I 
have  owned,  the  habit  of  dreaming,  which  in  the  rhyme 
is  denied  to  be  the  explanation,  is  probably  the  key 
to  the  mystery.  Again,  statistics  show  that  the  corre- 
spondence between  such  habits  and  sudden  showers  is 
only  what  we  should  expect  in  the  way  of  coincidences. 
Dogs  certainly  are  not  to  be  considered  as  reliable  ba- 
rometers. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  domestic  cat.  Its  move- 
ments have  all  been  carefully  noted,  and  the  yawning, 
stretching,  scratching,  and  waving  of  the  tail  appear  to 
have  been  accredited  Avith  some  special  meteorological 
significance.  Careful  observation  has  not  confirmed  any 
of  these  impressions.  Table-legs  are  scratched  time  and 
again  by  Tom  or  Tabby,  and  no  rain  falls  for  twenty- 
four  or  forty -eight  hours.  They  stretch  themselves 
after  a  nap,  lick  their  sides  and  wash  their  faces,  with 


30  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

tlie  same  regularity  in  midwinter  as  in  midsummer,  yet 
it  is  only  sliowers,  and  not  snow-storms,  wliicli  these 
actions  are  supposed  to  j)redict. 

When  in  summer  the  signs  fail,  my  country  friends 
conveniently  forget  the  remark  they  have  made;  but, 
if  the  day  does  prove  showery,  my  non-combative  neigh- 
bors take  much  delight  in  repeating  over  and  over  again, 
"I  told  thee  so,"  with  a  suggestive  emphasis,  showing 
how  much,  like  other  people,  they  love  to  gain  a  victory 
if  open  warfare  can  be  avoided. 

The  only  weather  rhyme  referring  to  a  cat  that  I  have 
heard,  and  which  is  essentially  the  same  as  that  about 
dogs,  runs  thus : 

"  When  Tabby  claws  the  table-legs, 
She  for  a  summer  shower  begs." 

That  is,  begs  it  will  hurry,  with  no  doubt  in  her  mind 
of  its  possibly  disappointing  her. 

The  weather -lore  of  the  commoner  wild  animals  is 
of  much  more  general  interest.  "Weather  sayings  refer- 
ring to  animals  do  not  appear  to  have  been  so  numerous 
as  are  those  referring  to  birds.  I  have  been  able  to 
learn  of  but  three  examples.  In  reference  to  minks  and 
weasels,  I  have  heard  it  said — and  possibly  others  may 
be  familiar  with  this  mystic  rhyme — 

"  "When  storm- winds  blow  and  night  is  black, 
The  farmer  may  a  pullet  lack ; 
But  if  the  moon  is  shining  clear, 
No  mink  or  weasel  dares  come  near." 

This  involves  an  interesting  phase  of  the  life  history  of 
these  animals ;  for  while  they  probably  can  see  a  little 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  31 

when  it  is  quite  dark,  and  are  safely  guided  by  the  sense 
of  smell,  nevertheless,  the  experience  of  trappers  about 
home  proves  that  they  do  wander  about  during  moon- 
light nights.  Indeed,  on  careful  inquiry,  it  seems  that 
the  trapper  generally  anticipates  better  success  during 
the  moonlit  nights  than  when  it  is  very  dark.  I  strong- 
ly suspect  that  the  truth  lies  in  the  fact  that  when  it  is 
dark  and  stormy  the  watchful  house-dog  is  not  on  the 
alert,  and  thus  the  cunning  weasel  or  mink  is  free  to 
raid  npon  the  poultry-house  and  feast  upon  the  pullet 
that  it  seizes.  How  my  neighbors  will  take  to  this  ex- 
planation I  can  only  surmise.  Like  other  people,  they 
fight  vigorously  for  the  opinions  they  have  cherished 
through  life.  The  musk-rat  and  gray  squirrels  have 
given  rise  to  many  trite  sayings,  and  have  long  been 
looked  upon  as  weather  prophets,  but  that  they  are  noth- 
ing of  the  sort  I  have  elsewhere'''^  endeavored  to  show. 
The  following  may  or  may  not  be  a  local  saying : 

"When  flying-squirrels  run  on  ground, 
•   The  clouds  '11  pass  you  by,  be  bound." 

"What  this  may  mean  has  been  a  question  with  me  for  a 
long  time.  It  is  a  common  remark,  either  in  this  or  a 
simpler  form,  and  many  who  have  little  faith  in  pigs  or 
dogs  as  weather  prophets  build  largely  upon  the  habits 
of  the  flying-squirrel.  The  saying  itself  implies  that  a 
drought  exists  at  the  time  that  these  animals  frequent 
the  ground  rather  than  the   trees,  coming,  of  course, 

*  "  Rambles  about  Home,"  p.  73.    New  York:  D.  Appleton  &  Co., 
1884. 


33  WASTE-LAXD   WANDERINGS. 

thereto,  in  order  to  find  food.  If  the  saying  be  true, 
the  summer  food  of  tlie  fljing-squirrel  must  be  more 
plentiful  on  the  ground  than  in  the  tops  of  the  tallest 
trees.  What  that  food  is  exactly,  I  am  not  aware ;  nor 
have  I  had  any  opportunity  to  verify  the  statement  that 
flying-squirrels  frequent  the  ground  during  "  dry  spells." 
Those  that  I  have  seen  near  home  are  so  strictly  cre- 
puscular that  only  the  initial  movements  of  their  noc- 
turnal journeys  are  readily  traced ;  but,  whenever  I 
have  seen  them  sally  from  their  retreats,  it  was  to  take 
a  tree-top  route  for  several  rods  and  then  to  be  lost  to 
sight.  Take  the  year  through,  it  is  probable  that  they 
seldom  come  to  tlie  ground  to  forage.  When  they  do 
so,  is  it  an  evidence  of  continued  dry  weather?  I  can 
neither  contradict  nor  affirm ;  but  are  not  the  probabil- 
ities against  such  being  the  case  ? 

Speaking  of  the  opossum,  it  is  said  that  if  found  in 
autumn  in  hollow  trees  rather  than  occupying  a  burrow 
in  the  ground,  the  winter  wdll  be  milder. 

This  seems  to  be  very  reasonable,  and  w^ould  pass  ad- 
mirably as  a  weather  sign,  but  for  one  unfortunate  cir- 
cumstance. While  you  may  find  one  or  more  in  a  tree, 
your  neighbor  may  find  as  many  in  the  ground.  I  have 
known  this  to  be  the  case  more  than  once.  Under  these 
circumstances,  meet  your  neighbor  at  the  line-fence  and 
comjDare  notes.     What  about  the  winter  ? 

From  their  greater  abundance  and  never-failing  pres- 
ence, it  might  be  thought  that  the  weather-lore  of  birds 
would  be  much  more  elaborate  than  that  referring  to 
other  classes  of  animals ;  but  my  observations  do  not 
confirm  this.      There  is  simply  a  greater  number  of 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  33 

sayings  cnrrent,  and  fully  one -half  are  too  trivial  to 
repeat.  It  would  seem  as  if  a  weatlier-lore  possibly  of 
Indian  origin  and  referring  to  birds  tlien  abundant,  but 
now  wholly  wanting,  was  current  more  than  a  century 
ago.  These  sayings  were  subsequently  apj^lied  to  other 
species,  nearly  or  more  remotely  allied,  and  wdiatever 
meaning  they  may  originally  have  had  has  been  lost ; 
but  the  apparent  absurdity  of  such  "  proverbs,"  as  now 
used,  seems  never  to  have  occurred  to  those  who  repeat 
them. 

That  the  dusting  of  chickens,  cackling  of  geese,  and 
the  "pot-racking"  of  Guinea-hens  have  not  given  rise 
to  an  elaborate  series  of  weather  proverbs  is,  I  think, 
surprising.  The  only  familiar  reference  to  the  chicken 
heard  about  home  is  that  the  rooster,  crowing  at  night, 
says,  "  Christmas — coming — on  !"  It  does  appear  that 
the  midnight  crowing  of  cocks  is  more  frequently  heard 
in  December  than  in  June ;  but,  so  far  as  the  meaning 
is  concerned,  it  unfortunately  happens  that  the  noctur- 
nal crowing  is  as  often  heard  in  January  as  in  Decem- 
ber. Calling  attention  to  this,  I  was  once  gravely  as- 
sured that  the  cocks  crew  differently  then,  and  said, 
"  Christmas — come — and — gone  !"  I  accepted  the  ex- 
planation. This  is  not  a  wxather  matter,  but  is  not  ir- 
relevant, as  it  shows  how  very  common  it  once  was 
to  couple  any  unusual  occurrence  w^ith  something  soon- 
er or  later  to  happen,  and  therefore,  in  the  matter  of 
weather  especially,  to  claim  it  as  pro^^hetic  of  that 
event. 

Of  the  examples  of  weather- lore  of  birds,  the  fol- 
lowing are  not  uncommonly  heard  in  Central  IS'ew 
2* 


34  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

Jersey.     Of  the  cardinal-grosbeak,  or  winter  redbird,  it 

is  said : 

"The  redbird  lies,  without  regret: 

However  dry,  it  whistles  'wet!'" 

That  is,  the  bird  is  credited  with  knowing  it  will  not 
rain,  and  teases  the  farmer  by  singing  "wet"  in  his 
ears  all  day.  Others  put  another  meaning  on  the  red- 
bird's  note,  and  claim  it  to  be  a  sure  sign  of  rain.  This 
is  more  like  tlie  ordinary  sayings  commonly  heard,  and 
let  us  give  it  a  moment's  consideration.  At  present,  the 
time  of  year  when  the  cardinal-birds  sing  least  is  during 
the  hot  summer  months.  Not  that  they  are  absolutely 
mute  for  even  a  few  days  at  a  time,  but  relatively  so  as 
compared  with  their  joyous  strains  through  autumn  and 
winter ;  and  again,  early  in  summer,  when  they  are  nest- 
ing, these  birds,  like  robins,  are  more  apt  to  sing  directly 
after  a  shower  than  at  any  other  time. 

So  much  for  the  gay  cardinal  as  a  weather  prophet. 
The  rare  summer  redbird — a  tanager — which  also  utters 
a  whistling  note,  well  described  by  the  sj^llable  "  wet," 
shortly  and  sharply  expressed,  is  likewise  said  to  proph- 
esy rain.  The  probabilities  are  that  the  note  of  the  red- 
bird,  cardinal  and  summer,  suggesting  the  word  "  wet,'' 
has  given  rise  to  the  belief  tliat  their  utterance  was  a 
sign  of  a  coming  shower  or  storm.  It  is  often  by  such 
illogical  methods  that  these  sayings  have  become  estab- 
lished. After  a  few  repetitions  they  become  fixed  in 
the  mind  and  their  origin  forgotten ;  they  are  invested 
with  an  importance  not  their  due,  and  not  attributed  to 
them  by  their  originators.  Ultimately  they  are  incor- 
porated in  the  weather-lore  of  the  country. 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  35 

Of  tlie  innumerable  swallows,  it  is  said,  with  as  little 
show  of  reason, 

"No  rain  e'er  poured  upon  the  earth 
That  damped  the  twittering  swallow's  mirth," 

IN'o  ?  AYell,  of  late,  the  whole  host  takes  refuge  from 
storms  —  the  barn  -  swallows  in  the  hay-mow,  the  cliff- 
swallows  under  the  eaves,  the  sand-martins  in  their  bur- 
rows, and  the  chimnej- swifts  in  their  sooty  liomes  in 
the  chimneys.  Why  this  change  of  habit  ?  For  a  won- 
derful change  must  have  taken  place,  if  the  couplet 
quoted  was  ever  true.  I  do  admit  that  swallows  and 
swifts  appear  to  be  noisier  before  and  during  a  shower ; 
but  does  not  this  arise  from  the  fact  that  at  such  a  time 
they  collect  in  great  numbers  near  their  nests,  to  take 
refuge,  if  the  storm  should  increase  in  violence  ?  And 
again,  the  silence  of  other  birds  makes  the  twittering 
swallow  a  more  prominent  bird  than  under  other  circum- 
stances; but  nothing  of  this  warrants  the  extravagant 
assertion  that  no  storm  ever  put  a  quietus  upon  them. 

The  larger  hawks,  too,  are  supposed  to  give  warning 
of  a  coming  shower  when  they  utter  their  peculiar  cat- 
like scream.  Among  our  old  people  the  following  may 
sometimes  be  heard  repeated : 

"  The  hen-hawk's  scream,  at  hot,  high  noon, 
Foretells  a  coming  shower  soon," 

This  couplet  is  of  some  interest,  as,  at  present,  it  is 
not  applicable  to  our  larger  hawks  and  buzzards.  In- 
deed, the  only  one  of  them  that  is  prone  to  cry  out  while 
circling  overhead  is  the  red-tailed  buzzard  or  hen-hawk, 


36  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

and  this  bird  is  very  seldom  seen  in  midsummer,  and 
now  certainly  is  only  heard  in  autumn,  winter,  or  early 
spring.  The  saying  implies  that  formerly  these  birds 
were  abundant  at  all  times  of  the  year,  and  during  the 
summer  would  cry  out  in  their  peculiar  fashion.  The 
settlement  of  the  country  and  general  deforesting  of 
such  a  large  jDortion  of  it  have  driven  these  hawks  to 
more  retired  parts  during  the  nesting  season,  and  there, 
throughout  summer,  their  cry  may  indicate  that  it  will 
soon  rain ;  but,  if  so,  why  does  not  the  same  cry  in  au- 
tumn have  some  reference  to  the  weather  ? 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  continue  the  list.  Other 
birds  than  those  mentioned  —  reptiles,  batrachians,  and 
fishes — have  all  given  rise  to  certain  current  sayings, 
but  of  no  more  value  than  those  I  have  given,  and 
all,  I  think,  based  upon  illogical  inferences.  Snakes  are 
claimed  as  excellent  barometers ;  but  the  habits  upon 
which  the  belief  rests  are  those  that  characterize  every 
day  of  the  creature's  life.  Toads  and  frogs  are  largely 
depended  upon,  but  a  careful  record  for  a  single  season 
will  show  how  little  they  are  to  be  trusted  ;  and  even  the 
fishes  cannot  disport  themselves  in  summer,  but  straight- 
way the  clouds  must  open  upon  us,  a  tornado  visit  us, 
or  premature  frosts  balk  the  calculations  of  the  farmer. 

Curiously  enough,  I  do  not  find  that  insect-life  has 
entered  to  any  important  extent  into  the  weather-lore 
of  this  neighborhood.  Contradictory  remarks  are  often 
made  as  to  ant-hills :  thus,  when  they  are  very  high,  it 
will  be  a  dry  day ;  others  insist  that  it  is  evidence  that 
it  will  soon  rain.  Spiders'  webs,  also,  are  variously  held 
as  of  barometric  value ;  but  a  careful  record  of  several 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  37 

summers  contradicts  tins  empliaticallj.  The  positions 
of  the  paper-hornets'  nests,  which  in  autumn  are  often 
prominent  objects  in  the  country,  after  the  foHage  drops, 
are  variously  asserted  to  be  indicative  of  a  "  hard  "  or 
"  open  "  winter,  as  they  chance  to  be  placed  in  the  upper 
or  lower  branches  of  a  tree.  My  scepticism  as  to  the 
value  of  this  sign  arises  from  the  fact  that  there  is,  as 
might  be  expected,  no  uniformity  in  the  positions  of 
any  half-dozen  such  nests. 

It  may  be  rash  to  say  that  meteorological  science  can 
gain  nothing  from  scientific  observation  of  animal  life ; 
but  the  character  of  the  weather-lore  that  has  Ijeen  hand- 
ed down  from  father  to  son  for  the  past  two  centuries 
plainly  indicates  that  the  observations  which  gave  rise 
to  them  were  anything  but  scientific  in  character.  Man- 
kind now,  as  formerly,  may  be  close  observers  of  Nature, 
but  this  does  not  imply  that  they  are  accurate  observers. 
They  assume  as  correct  the  appearance,  but  it  is  no  un- 
usual circumstance  for  an  animal  to  be  doing  the  very 
opposite  of  what  might  naturally  be  supposed  was  the 
case.  The  simple  and  sad  fact  derived  from  a  study  of 
local  animal  weather-lore  is  that,  in  the  days  of  our  grand- 
fathers, painstaking  naturalists  were  few  and  far  between. 

Reaching  my  boat,  in  which  musk-rats  had  been  ca- 
rousing during  the  night,  I  pushed  it  very  cautiously 
from  the  shore,  desiring  to  disturb  no  creature  that 
mie:ht  be  linirerino;  on  the  bank  of  the  creek. 

I  had  gone  but  a  little  way,  and  seeing  some  new  bird 
at  every  boat-length,  I  could  not  but  go  slowly,  when  I 
came  to  an  abrupt  bend  of  the  stream,  and  extending 


38  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

eastward  tlirongli  a  little  forest  was  Doctor's  Creek,  as 
my  neighbors  have  it,  but  known  in  the  past  century, 
as  it  should  be  still,  as  Buzzard's  Rest. 

Yenerable  birches  and  towering  hickories,  as  if  jealous 
of  the  stream  that  flows  at  their  feet,  bend  lovingly  over 
it,  and  combat  every  summer  sunbeam  that  seeks  to  gild 
the  sluo^o^ish  waters. 

As  I  turned  the  boat's  prow  from  the  main  creek  and 
entered  the  Hest,  the  silence  was  profound.  The  name, 
as  in  days  of  old,  proved,  to-day,  to  be  aptly  cliosen.  A 
score  of  gorged  and  listless  vultures  were  sitting  in  the 
upper  branches  of  the  trees. 

The  most  prominent  object  at  the  mouth  of  this  trib- 
utary creek  is  a  magnificent  birch,  measuring  something 
more  than  two  feet  in  diameter.  It  leans  over  the  wa- 
ter at  about  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  The  largest 
of  its  branches  are  strangely  angular,  and  at  once  at- 
tract attention.  In  this  feature  of  angularity  they  re- 
call the  crooked  hornbeams  of  Linden  Bend. 

Beyond  this  tree,  but  still  distinctly  in  view,  are  oth- 
er equally  large  birches,  one  of  which,  now  dead,  leans 
over  the  w^ater  in  a  nearly  horizontal  position.  One  fan- 
cies these  trees,  collectively,  the  rafters  of  an  enormous 
roof,  that  once  shut  in  the  valley. 

Buzzard's  Best  is  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  kingfishers, 
and  seldom  a  half-hour  passes  witliout  their  harsh  cries 
disturbing  the  quiet  of  this  secluded  corner. 

This  bird  is  considered  strictly  migratory,  and  possi- 
bly, a  century  or  more  ago,  came  and  went  with  the  reg- 
ularity of  our  summer  songsters  ;  but  since  I  have  known 
them,  a  few  are  sure  to  be  found  wintering  in  every  lit- 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  39 

tie  valley  tlirongli  wliicli  a  fisli-stream  runs.  AVlien  the 
brooks  arc  frozen,  the  bird  is  cunning  enough  to  search 
for  air-lioles,  and  if  the  opening  in  the  ice  be  a  yard  in 
width,  will  plunge  into  it,  secure  its  pre}^,  and  emerge 
in  safety.  Occasionally,  the  kingfisher  would  sadly  mis- 
calculate its  bearings,  and  coming  up  under  the  ice  be 
drowned.  This  was  the  fate  of  one  that  lived  through- 
out the  winter  in  the  shed  coverino:  an  old-fashioned 
water-wheel.  This  bird  in  some  way  learned  that  the 
fish  collected  in  a  deep  pool  behind  the  waters  of  the 
dam,  and  continually  passed  through  the  broad  sheet 
of  falling  water  when  foraging  there.  After  passing  a 
pleasant  winter,  it  forsook  the  dam  for  the  mill-pond, 
and  was  caught  under  a  cake  of  floating  ice,  that  covered 
but  a  small  portion  of  the  pond's  surface. 

The  miller  told  me  that  this  kingfisher  soon  became 
quite  tame,  after  winter  set  in,  and  delighted  to  sit  on 
the  sill  of  a  south  window  of  the  wheel-shed.  When  the 
wheel  was  stopped,  the  kingfisher  often  sat  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  pool  beneath,  watching  the  minnows,  but 
was  not  able  to  capture  any,  as  the  depth  of  the  water 
was  not  suflicient  to  allow  the  bird  to  dive.  Several 
times  the  miller  caught  a  number  of  the  fish  and  placed 
them  in  very  conspicuous  places,  but  the  kingfisher  did 
not  appear  even  to  notice  them ;  and  the  miller  was 
very  positive  that  none  were  eaten. 

Another  and  very  different  bird  that  constantly  fre- 
quents these  overhanging  birches,  is  the  little  green  her- 
on. When  this  lively  little  wader  thoughtfully  prom- 
enades the  broad  branches,  and  at  times  stops  to  gaze 
intently  at  the  water  beneath,  a  charm  is  lent  to  this 


40  WASTE-LAXD  WAXDERIXGS. 

romantic  spot.  Other  species  of  this  family  of  birds 
are  usually  found  here,  the  night -herons  particularly; 
and  years  ago,  as  certain  old  records  show,  the  banks 
and  shallows  of  the  creek  were  "spotted  gray  and  white 
with  birds  like  unto  storks."  Then,  as  now,  these  con- 
spicuous birds  found  the  proximity  of  the  forest  to  their 
feeding  grounds  conducive  to  their  safety. 

It  is  natural  for  those  inexperienced  in  observing 
birds,  to  snjDj^ose  that  the  branches  and  foliage  of  a  tree 
would  afford  but  little  if  any  protection  to  a  bird  as 
large  as  a  night-heron,  standing  as  it  does  fully  two  feet 
in  height,  and  having  a  bulky,  conspicuously  colored 
body.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  it  is  perched  in  a  tall 
tree,  it  seems  to  study  the  effect  of  light  and  shade,  and 
remaining  quite  motionless,  is  difficult  to  detect.  I  be- 
lieve my  eyesight  is  better  than  that  of  most  people,  and 
yet  I  have  more  than  once  spent  fully  half  an  hour  in 
determining  the  precise  position  of  a  cunning  heron  that 
so  "  mingled  "  with  the  branches  and  leaves  of  a  beech, 
that  it  seemed  a  part  of  the  tree  in  which  it  stood. 

After  a  few  weeks  of  Held  observation,  it  will  be 
readily  admitted  by  all,  that  the  majority  of  birds  have 
a  well  defined  color  sense.  Of  course  it  will  not  be  ap- 
parent if  the  birds  are  not  disturbed,  but  it  becomes 
evident  when  they  are  pursued,  unless  they  seek  to  es- 
cape by  a  protracted  flight.  Often  I  have  known  small 
birds,  that  from  some  cause,  such  as  nesting,  were  averse 
to  leaving  a  particular  spot,  to  droj)  to  the  ground  and 
barely  escape  being  trodden  uj)on,  while  I  was  craning 
my  neck  and  scanning  every  twig  of  the  tree  or  bush 
upon  which  I  supposed  them  to  be  sitting.     This  is  a 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  41 

trick  of  species  liaunting  shrubbery  that  took  me  sev- 
eral years  to  discover. 

While  it  so  happened  that  no  kingfisher  or  heron 
rested  on  any  of  the  trees,  there  was  a  host  of  smaller 
birds,  yellow  warblers  and  mottled  tree-creepers  being 
noticeably  abundant.  I  was  much  struck  with  the  in- 
difference of  these  birds  to  the  proximity  of  the  vult- 
ures. They  hunted  for  insects  on  the  very  branches 
whereon  the  latter  were  sittinc^.  and  often  were  within 
a  dozen  feet  of  them.  They  had  evidently  learned  to 
discriminate  between  them  and  birds  of  prey.  Their 
fearlessness  brought  to  mind  the  young  poultry  that  I 
carefully  observed  some  months  previously.  Under  the 
pines  in  my  yard,  clucking  hens  had  been  guiding  to 
the  best  scratchings  their  broods  of  quarter  -  grown 
chicks,  while  above  them  the  busy  grakles  had  been 
passing  two  and  fro  all  day  long.  Never  for  a  moment 
did  the  chickens  regard  them.  Their  shadows  darted, 
like  swallows,  across  the  sunlit  sward,  yet  never  a  chick 
started  as  this  trick  of  light  and  shade  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  its  path. 

Once,  while  watching  them,  a  sly  sparrow-hawk  darted 
from  tree  to  tree,  and  its  shadow  at  once  caused  every 
chick  to  cower,  even  before  the  mother-hen  uttered  her 
warning  cluck.  I  am  convinced  these  chickens  saw  a 
difference  in  that  shadow,  and  caught  no  glimpse  of  the 
bird. 

I  suppose  the  difference  between  harmless  species  and 
birds  of  prey  is  taught  their  young  by  the  parent  birds, 
and  argues  well  for  the  mental  capabilities  of  the  for- 


42  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

mer,  tliat  so  eai-lj  in  life  tliej  can  discriminate  between 
the  shadows  of  hawks  and  grakles,  as  is  certainly  true  of 
them. 

Among  wild  birds,  an  interesting  instance  of  this  is 
that  all  birds  at  once  recognize  the  fish-hawk.  Chickens 
do  not,  at  first,  but  after  a  week  or  two  appear  also  to 
recognize  the  difference  between  this  bird  and  the  true 
falcons.  The  fact  that  small  birds  of  many  species  often 
nest  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  fish-hawk's  home- 
tree  clearly  proves  this  fact.  The  vast  quantities  of  in- 
sects attracted  by  the  remains  of  fish  scattered  about  a 
fish-hawk's  nest  make  the  spot  attractive  to  fly-catchers 
of  many  kinds,  and  there  they  are  pretty  sure  to  con- 
gregate. 

When  my  boat  was  directly  beneath  the  turkey-buz- 
zards, as  these  true  vultures  are  generally  called — a  po- 
sition that  is  quite  undesirable,  let  it  be  known — they 
lazily  flapped  their  enormous  wings,  and  after  something 
of  a  struggle  were  fairly  afloat  upon  the  upper  air. 
They  gave,  I  think,  about  twenty  quick  strokes  of  the 
wings  before  they  were  as  many  feet  above  the  tree- 
toj^s.  Then,  one  that  I  noticed  particularly,  with  ap- 
parently unmoved  wings  soared  steadily  upward  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees  against  the  wind,  which  was 
very  gentle  at  the  time.  The  others  gradually  arose  to 
a  great  height  by  circling,  or  rather  by  describing  a 
broad  spiral  course. 

The  common  impression  prevailing  in  this  neighbor- 
hood is,  that  turkey-buzzards  will  eat,  in  fact  are  fond 
of,  decayed  cabbages.     It  is  true,  apparently,  that  the 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  43 

odor  arising  from  a  field  planted  with  this  vegetable, 
when  once  they  have  commenced  to  wilt,  attracts  tliesc 
filthy  feeders ;  but  that  they  really  do  more  than  visit 
the  locality  is  improbable.  Nevertheless,  I  do  not  sub- 
scribe to  the  view  that  these  birds  are  guided  by  an 
acute  sense  of  smell  to  their  unsavory  food.  "Whenever 
opportunity  has  offered,  I  have  sought  for  information 
on  this  point,  and  the  result  has  invariably  been  to  lead 
me  to  conclude  that  sight,  not  smell,  was  the  guiding 
sense.  In  no  instance  has  the  result  of  any  of  my  ob- 
servations or  experiments  been  susceptible  of  any  other 
explanation  than  that  of  acute  vision,  and  not  astonish- 
ingly acute  either.  It  is  a  significant  fact  that  in  mid- 
winter, when  far  less  odor  arises  from  dead  animals  than 
in  summer,  and  none  at  all  for  much  of  the  time,  the 
few  buzzards  that  remain  with  us  find  their  food  quite 
as  readily  as  in  July  and  August.  In  one  instance,  a 
carcass  of  a  sheep,  uncovered  by  the  drifting  of  snow, 
was  quickly  discovered  by  them,  because  the  body  lay 
in  full  relief  against  a  nearly  black  background ;  but  an- 
other carcass,  equally  uncovered,  but  lying  upon  snow, 
was  not  seen,  although  the  buzzards  passed  directly  over 
it,  and  but  a  few  rods  distant. 

It  is  hard  to  believe  that  one  of  these  vultures  can  see 
a  sheep  at  a  distance  of  a  mile  or  more,  as  is  undoubted- 
ly true ;  but  this  is  easier  than  to  accept  the  statement 
that  they  can  smell  it  even  at  half  that  distance.  If 
they  depend  upon  their  sense  of  smell,  it  is  only  during 
seven  or  eight  months  in  the  year.  In  winter  their  sense 
of  sight  must  practically  do  the  whole  work.  If  equal 
to  the  task  for  a  part  of  the  year,  why  not  for  all  time  ? 


44  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

A  marked  feature  of  tliis  beautiful  spot,  and  one  that 
to-daj  affected  tlie  sense  of  smell  no  less  decidedly  than 
that  of  sight,  was  the  tangle  of  grape-vines  that  cover 
even  the  underbrush,  and  no  less  often  reach  to  the  very 
tops  of  the  tallest  trees.  This  vigorous  vine  and  the 
Virginia  -  creeper  strive  for  every  available  space  to 
which  to  cling,  and  often  both  intwine  the  main  stem 
of  a  towering  oak  and  encumber  half  its  branches.  The 
poor  tree  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  and  often  becomes  but  a 
mere  prop  for  these  rank  growths.  My  attention  was 
particularly  called  to  one  enormous  grape-vine,  not  only 
by  its  remarkable  girth,  but  by  the  abundance  of  its 
fruit,  for  the  penetrating  heat  of  August  sunshine  dis- 
tilled the  aromatic  essence  from  the  ripening  grapes  and 
caused  the  air  to  be  heavy  laden  with  a  sickening  sweet. 

I  wonder  that  grape-vines  have  not  given  rise  to  "fish- 
stories,"  and  I  sincerely  trust  my  reference  to  the  vine 
near  Buzzard's  Rest  will  not  induce  others  to  bring 
about  such  a  practice.  This  vine,  it  may  be  briefly 
stated,  is  a  foot  in  circumference  at  the  ground  and  for 
some  distance  beyond,  and  is  something  more  than  one 
hundred  yards  long. 

This  vine  extends  directly  upward  but  five  feet,  when 
it  turns  at  a  right  angle  for  the  same  distance,  and  then 
reaches  upward,  backward,  and  downward,  "  to  the  place 
of  beginning,"  as  they  say  in  deeds.  Then  it  grows  di- 
rectly upward  to  the  very  highest  branches  of  a  swamp 
white-oak,  a  distance  of  forty  feet  from  the  ground. 
Having  secured  itself  there,  the  vine  returns  for  a  dozen 
feet  or  so,  and  then  crosses  a  clear  space  of  thirteen 
yards  and  climbs  about  another  oak  still  taller  than  the 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  45 

first.  Then  seeking  tlie  largest  trees,  it  threads  its  way 
on  and  on  through  the  little  woods,  until  its  ultimate 
fibres  are  lost  among  the  countless  twigs  of  twenty  tree- 
tops.  I  have  said  it  is  one  hundred  yards  long.  I  do 
not  mean  that  this  is  its  actual  length.  I  could  measure 
this  much  with  approximate  accuracy,  and  there  was  yet 
more,  hopelessly  beyond  my  reach. 

Imagine  some  great  flood  that  stranded  a  rope-walk 
here,  and  you  can  conceive  how  such  a  grape-vine  looks 
aniouir  the  trees.  IIow  it  crossed  from  tree  to  tree  and 
cleared  open  spaces  where  nothing  but  low  shrubbery 
has  grown,  since  the  vine  started  on  its  erratic  wander- 
ings, I  leave  the  reader  to  conjecture. 

Leaving  it,  finally,  in  all  its  tangled  glory,  I  hunted 
long  for  birds'-nests  of  the  past  summer,  but  found  none ; 
and  only  by  chance,  as  I  was  w^ithdrawing  from  the 
"Kest,"  did  I  see  a  nest  of  the  yellow-throated  vireo, 
thirty  or  more  feet  above  the  water. 

This  fine  songster  always  builds  quite  out  of  reach,  so 
far  as  the  egg -hunting  small  boy  is  concerned,  and  is 
disposed  to  return  to  the  same  situation,  summer  after 
summer,  to  rear  its  brood.  In  a  maple-tree  in  the  lane, 
at  home,  the  same  individuals  have  for  four  summers 
built  their  nest.  It  is  not  the  same  nest,  repaired  year 
after  year,  but  a  new  structure  on  the  same  or  an  adja- 
cent limb.  I  say  purposely  the  same  individuals,  for  I 
am  convinced  that  very  many  of  our  birds  remain  mated 
longer,  than  a  single  season.  This  is  a  matter  worthy  of 
most  careful  study,  and  I  was  glad  to  find  a  correspond- 
ent of  a  scientific  periodical  remarking  that,  while  "  it 
is  generally  taken  for  granted  that  our  song-birds  and 


46  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

migrants  are  in  tlie  liabit  of  seeking  mates  every  season, 
and  not  keeping  to  the  same  mate  year  after  year,"  lie 
believes  "that  almost  if  not  quite  all  birds  are  fairly 
constant  in  their  attachments." 

To  determine  whether  most  or  even  a  proportion  of 
our  birds  are  j)ermanently  mated  or  but  for  a  season, 
requires  so  great  an  amount  of  patient  observation  that 
it  is  not  surprising  the  subject  has  been  practically  neg- 
lected. A  chance  occurrence,  years  ago,  called  my  at- 
tention to  this  subject,  and  I  commenced,  at  that  time, 
a  series  of  observations,  which  have  been  repeated  dur- 
ing each  of  the  succeeding  summers.  While  by  no 
means  what  I  wished,  I  have,  probably,  gathered  suffi- 
cient material  to,  at  least,  warrant  calling  attention  to 
the  subject,  especially  as  the  remarks  in  "  Science  Gos- 
sip," quoted  above,  are  likely  to  bring  the  subject  prom- 
inently before  active,  out-door  ornithologists. 

The  birds  that  I  have  studied,  in  hopes  of  reaching  a 
satisfactory  conclusion,  were  all  land  birds;  and  these 
may  be  separated,  for  convenience  of  study,  into  two 
classes,  Hesident  species  and  Summer  migrants. 

Of  sixteen  resident  species  of  birds,  my  observations 
show  that  during  the  whole  year  the  sexes  remain  to- 
gether ;  and  of  these  sixteen  only  three — the  crow,  pur- 
ple grakle,  and  cedar-bird — are  gregarious.  Of  course,  in 
the  latter  case,  it  is  im]30ssible  to  determine  whether  the 
mated  pairs  of  the  early  summer  remain  together  or 
not,  associated  as  they  are  with  other  pairs;  but  cer- 
tainly there  is  no  more  reason  why  permanently  mated 
birds  should  not  form  flocks  than  that  individuals  or 
unmated  birds  should  do  so.     It  is,  furthermore,  highly 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  47 

im23rob{ible  that  any  antagonisin  should  arise  between 
the  sexes  after  the  nesting  season.  There  is  certainly 
no  coniliction  of  interests.  If  there  existed  such  ana- 
tomical differences  as  made  one  sex  decidedly  weaker 
than  the  other,  then  post-nuptual  habits  acquired  by  the 
stronger  sex  might  draw  them  aw\ay  from  the  others, 
and  an  absolute  separation,  for  a  time,  result ;  but  this 
is  not  the  case  in  any  one  of  the  sixteen  birds  I  have 
had  under  observation. 

In  the  case  of  crows,  I  believe  I  have  never  found  a 
strictly  isolated  nest.  There  have  always  been  others 
quite  near,  and  usually  five  to  ten  pairs  build  in  such 
proximity  that  each  pair  is  more  or  less  associated  with 
all  the  others.  When  the  young  leave  the  nest,  they 
remain  with  their  parents  and  neighbors,  and  the  little 
colony,  now  perhaps  treble  the  original  number,  remain 
associated  until  October,  when  they  are  lost  in  the  large 
flocks  formed  by  the  uniting  of  scores  of  small  colonies. 
During  the  nesting  season,  each  bird  could  distinguish 
his  or  her  mate  from  a  dozen  or  more  individuals ;  so 
why  not  from  a  thousand  ?  And  when  tlie  nesting  sea- 
son returned,  why  should  not  the  mated  birds  of  a  past 
year  renew  the  labors  of  nest-building  and  the  rearing 
of  their  young?  The  old  sites  are  revisited,  and  every 
action  is  indicative  of  familiarity  with  the  locality.  To 
say,  each  spring,  these  are  not  the  crows  of  last  year,  is 
merely  to  assume  it,  and  that  often  against  evidence  to 
the  contrary. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  too,  that  it  is  the  female 
bird  that  decides  upon  the  locality  for  the  nest.  She  it 
is  who  returns  to  her  home  of  tlie  past  summer ;  and 


48  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

lier  mate  is  sure  to  be  found  attending  upon  her.  If, 
after  hundreds  of  miles  of  winter  wanderings,  the  fe- 
male crow  can  unerringly  return  to  her  abandoned  nest, 
or  to  the  tree  upon  which  it  rested,  which  is  unquestion- 
ably true,  what  improbability  is  there  in  her  being 
joined  by  her  mate,  even  though  for  months  they  have 
been  separated ;  a  circumstance,  indeed,  that  probably 
but  rarely  occurs. 

A  word  here  concerning  the  English  rook.  Eichard 
Jefferies,  in  one  of  his  charming  essays,  remarks  :  "  The 
general  idea  is  that  they  pair  in  February,  but  there  are 
some  reasons  for  thinking  that  the  rooks,  in  fact,  choose 
their  mates  at  the  end  of  the  preceding  summer.  They 
are  then  in  large  flocks,  and  if  only  casually  glanced 
at,  appear  mixed  together  without  any  order  or  arrange- 
ment. They  move  on  the  ground  and  fly  in  the  air  so 
close,  one  beside  the  other,  that  at  the  first  glance  or  so 
you  cannot  distinguish  them  apart.  Yet  if  you  should 
be  lingering  along  the  by-ways  of  the  fields  as  the  acorns 
fall,  and  the  leaves  come  rustling  down  in  the  warm, 
sunny,  autumn  afternoons,  and  keep  an  observant  eye 
upon  the  rooks  in  the  trees,  or  on  the  fresh -turned 
furrows,  they  will  be  seen  to  act  in  couples.  On  the 
ground  couples  alight  near  each  other,  on  the  trees  they 

perch  near  each  other,  and  in  the  air  fly  side  by  side 

After  the  nest  time  is  over  they  flock  together,  and  each 
family  of  three  or  four  flies  in  concert.  Later  on  they 
apparently  choose  their  own  particular  friends,  that  is, 
the  young  hirds  do  so.  All  through  the  winter,  after, 
say  October,  these  pairs  heejp  together^,  though  lost  in  the 
general  mass  to  the  passing  spectator."     The  same  can 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  49 

truthfully  be  said,  I  think,  of  our  purple  grakle,  a  bird 
that  in  many  ways  resembles  the  rook. 

Until  birds  are  marked,  it  may  not  be  possible  to 
prove  them  permanently  mated,  but  I  venture  to  assert 
that  the  general  impression  of  such  as  will  take  the  trou- 
ble to  study  particularly  our  resident  birds  for  several 
years,  will  coincide  with  my  own,  that  courtship  and 
marriage  are  not  repeated,  year  after  year,  with  the  reg- 
ularity of  the  coming  and  going  of  the  seasons. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  common  cedar-bird. 
This  species  is  peculiar  in  that  it  is  permanently  grega- 
rious. During  the  breeding  season,  which  is  often  as  late 
as  July  and  August,  the  several  pairs  forming  each 
flock  breed  at  the  same  time,  and  with  the  nests  quite 
near  each  other.  In  one  instance,  I  found  two  nests 
upon  one  tree,  and  on  each  of  five  trees,  but  a  rod  or 
two  distant,  a  single  nest.  This  sociability  is  maintained 
during  the  five  or  six  weeks  that  they  are  held  in  one 
locality  by  the  care  of  their  offspring;  and  when  the 
latter  are  ready  to  leave  the  nest,  they  remain  with  their 
parents. 

If  such  small  flocks,  of  not  more  than  twenty  or  thirty, 
were  not  permanently  mated,  there  would  be  quarrelling 
continually  among  them,  unless  it  always  happened  that 
in  every  one  of  them  there  were  an  equal  number  of 
each  sex.  If  the  flocks  were  made  up  in  any  hap-hazard 
manner,  as  is  probably  the  case  with  the  enormous  gath- 
erings of  red  -  winged  blackbirds,  an  excess  of  one  sex 
over  the  other  would  probably  result,  and  a  general 
breaking  up  of  all  such  gatherings,  late  in  the  winter  or 
in  early  spring,  would  necessarily  result ;  but  the  smaller 
3 


50  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

flocks  of  cedar-birds,  that  liave  kept  so  closely  togeth- 
er from  November  to  May,  do  not  disperse,  and  a  gener- 
al stampede  for  wives  and  husbands  takes  place.  All 
contention  upon  this  point  is  among  themselves,  and 
the  small  proportion  of  unmated  birds,  common  to  gre- 
garious or  non-gregarious  species,  either  remain  in  sin- 
gle blessedness  for  a  season,  or  join  other  communities 
where  mates  are  to  be  had. 

In  this  case,  as  in  that  of  crows,  it  is  necessarily  a  mat- 
ter of  probabilities,  not  demonstrable  facts;  but  when  we 
come  to  consider  the  following  non-gregarious  species, 
we  are  treading  upon  firmer  ground. 

It  is  a  somewhat  significant  fact  that  birds  are  very 
seldom  seen  alone ;  and  if  we  do  chance  to  come  across 
a  single  individual  of  one  species,  it  is  pretty  sure  to  be 
in  the  company  of  other  kinds  of  birds.  To  meet  with 
a  bird  that  is  strictly  alone,  even  in  the  late  autumn  or 
winter,  when  birds  have  no  thoughts  of  nesting,  is  the 
very  rarest  occurrence  I  have  noted  during  many  years 
of  rambling. 

Prominent  among  our  resident  birds  is  the  familiar 
bluebird.  Since  187-1 1  have  recorded  them  thirty  four 
hundred  times,  and  when  not  in  loose  flocks,  there  w^as 
always  at  least  a  pair,  and  flying  in  such  close  company 
it  was  evident  that  they  had  mutual  interests,  whether 
it  happened  to  be  December  or  May.  Of  their  nests 
I  have  examined  seventy-three,  and  fifty-five  of  them 
were  built,  year  after  year,  in  six  different  localities. 
One  hole  in  an  apple-tree  was  certainly  occupied  by  the 
same  pair  for  five  successive  summers.  The  male  bird 
was  readily  recognized  by  a  peculiarity  in  the  plumage. 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  51 

As  both  lie  and  liis  mate  remained  during  tlie  year,  and 
in  stormy  weather  often  took  shelter  in  the  old  nest, 
it  is  simply  absurd  to  suppose  these  bluebirds  separated 
at  any  time  of  the  year,  and  the  male  formed  a  new 
connection.  Indeed,  there  was  never  more  than  a  week 
passed  that  the  pair  were  not  seen  together. 

The  common  thistle-linch,  or  yellow-bird,  is  always 
found  in  pairs,  or  more  generally  in  small  comj^anies. 
They  are  as  gregarious  in  summer  as  in  winter,  and  their 
nests  are  often  near  together.  Even  if  it  cannot  be 
shown  that  they  remain  mated,  there  is  certainly  no 
dissociation  of  the  sexes  at  any  time. 

The  equally  abundant  bay-winged  sparrow  (the  vesper- 
bird)  is  a  peculiarly  resident  species.  They  do  not  ap- 
pear to  wander  at  any  time  from  the  limited  quarters 
of  some  field  of  a  few  acres.  Where  they  nest  they  live  ; 
and  whether  in  June  or  January,  it  matters  not,  the 
pair  are  ever  in  close  companionship. 

The  more  social  song-sparrows  apparently  remained 
paired.  Scores  of  couples,  that  were  found  breeding, 
have  been  subsequently  observed  from  week  to  week, 
and  the  relief  from  the  care  of  their  offspring  did  not 
result  in  the  parents  parting  company. 

The  crested  titmouse  proved  a  much  more  difficult 
bird  to  study,  because  of  its  wandering  tendencies. 
During  eight  months  of  the  year  they  are  very  abun- 
dant, and,  I  think,  always  in  the  company  of  their  own 
kind.  Daring  nidification,  and  through  July  and  Au- 
gust, these  birds  are  seemingly  much  less  abundant,  but 
the  fact  is,  they  are  unnoticed,  because  quite  silent,  as 
compared  with  the  same  birds  in  autumn  and  winter. 


53  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

"A  noisy  tit  is  Jack  Frost's  trnmj^eter,"  and  there  is  a 
grain  of  trutli  in  this  weather  proverb.  Like  bhie- 
birds  thej  build  their  nests  in  holes  in  trees,  and  the 
same  locality  is  occupied  several  summers  in  succession. 
The  association  of  the  sexes  during  the  winter  is  ad- 
duced as  plausible  evidence  that  no  divorcement  and  re- 
mating  occur.  I  have  positive  knowledge  that,  as  in 
the  case  of  bluebirds,  the  locality  where  nesting  occurred 
was  frequently  revisited  during  the  year,  and  occupied 
as  a  shelter  from  severe  snow-storms  in  midwinter. 

Since  the  above  concerning  crested  titmice  was  writ- 
ten, I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  closely  observing  a 
pair  of  these  birds  while  constructing  a  nest.  Barely 
ten  paces  from  my  study-windows  stands  an  aged  lo- 
cust, with  a  great  cavernous  hollow  in  its  trunk  some 
six  feet  from  the  ground.  On  the  18th  of  April,  1886, 
I  saw  a  pair  of  tits  flitting  to  and  fro  among  the  branch- 
es of  the  tree,  and  occasionally  entering  the  hollow 
trunk.  The  weather  was  very  warm  and  spring-like. 
These  birds  remained  much  of  the  time  about  the  tree 
until  the  21:th,  but  did  not  commence  building  a  nest 
until  that  day.  I  could  not  positively  determine  the 
matter,  but  think  the  male  only  carried  the  materials 
from  the  adjacent  hill-side  and  garden  to  the  tree,  and 
the  female  arranged  them.  While  the  male  bird  was 
thus  employed  he  sang  incessantly.  This  work  of  gath- 
ering materials  for  a  nest  continued,  with  some  irregu- 
larity, until  May  2d,  when  the  birds  disappeared.  Ten 
days  later,  the  tits  were  again  about  the  tree,  and  re- 
mained until  evening;  since  when  I  have  seen  nothing 
of  them. 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  53 

They  were  not  disturbed,  but  left  the  neighborhood, 
after  so  much  labor,  voluntarily.  I  mention  this  in- 
stance, and  it  is  not  an  unusual  one,  to  show  that  for 
weeks  before  they  finally  settle  down  to  rear  a  family 
these  birds  are  mated,  and  if  for  weeks  prior  to  nidifi- 
cation,  why  not  for  a  much  longer  period  ? 

I  am  quite  sure  tliat  during  the  winter  they  were 
seen  in  pairs  as  frequently  as  singly ;  and  their  predi- 
lection for  hollow  trees,  at  all  times,  suggests  that  like 
2)igeon-woodpeckers,  they  often  prepare  nesting  places 
which,  before  completion  or  directly  after,  are  perma- 
nently abandoned. 

It  is  impossible  to  believe  that  such  a  sentiment  as 
Platonic  friendship  ever  entered  the  mind  of  any  sj^ecies 
of  bird. 

The  Carolina  wren  affords  a  most  striking  instance 
of  birds  remaining  mated  from  one  year  to  another.  I 
have  had  a  pair  of  these  birds  under  almost  daily  ob- 
servation for  two  years,  and  it  matters  not  what  the 
season  may  be,  there  was  never  more  than  a  week  passed 
that  the  pair  were  not  seen  together.  They  commence 
nesting  in  April  and  raise  four  broods. 

A  pair  of  cardinal  -  grosbeaks  were  found  nesting, 
June,  1883,  and  the  female  was  readily  distinguished  by 
a  peculiarity  in  the  coloring  of  her  wings.  The  pair 
remained  in  the  locality  during  the  succeeding  win- 
ter, nested  in  the  old  site  in  188-i,  and  in  1885  chose  a 
new  position  in  a  thicket  of  smilax  a  few  yards  distant. 
This  pair  of  redbirds  were  always  associated  during  the 
two  winters  that  I  had  them  under  observation. 

Meadow-larks,  if  not  in  loose  flocks,  as  though  two  or 


54  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

three  broods  were  nnited,  are  always  in  jDairs,  and  there 
is  every  appearance  of  their  close  companionship  during 
the  winter.  I  have  hundreds  of  references,  in  my  note- 
books, to  single  pairs  frequenting  certain  fields  the  year 

through. 

I  can  speak  less  positively  of  blue-jays,  as  my  oppor- 
tunities for  close  observation  have  been  fewer ;  but  the 
important  fact  is  known  tliat,  when  tliey  are  no  longer 
nesting,  they  often  remain  associated  in  pairs,  and  joint- 
ly occupy  some  cunningly  chosen  roosting -j^lace  in  a 
hollow  tree  or  barn  ;  and  further,  that  occasionally  they 
have  a  brood  as  early  as  March  is  at  least  presumptive 
evidence  that  some  of  these  birds  are  mated  for  a  longer 
period  than  a  single  summer. 

The  flicker  or  pigeon-woodpecker  offers  an  interest- 
ing example  of  permanent  mating  among  birds.  They 
are  usually  found  in  pairs  or  small  flocks ;  and  it  is  not 
uncommon  for  a  pair  to  jointly  peck  a  deep,  commo- 
dious nest  in  a  tree  late  in  autumn  or  in  midwinter. 
These  nests  are  never  used,  that  I  am  aware  of ;  but  as 
they  are  the  result  of  joint  labors  of  a  pair,  it  is  quite 
impossible  that  a  few  weeks  later  they  should  separate 
and  form  new  ties. 

The  two  owls — the  little  red  and  tlie  barnowl — are 
found  to  occupy  their  nests  in  hollow  trees  long  after 
the  young  have  sought  homes  of  their  own  ;  and  in  the 
case  of  the  barnowls,  so  strongly  attached  do  they  be- 
come to  a  chosen  tree,  that  when  either  bird  is  captured 
or  killed  the  widower  or  widow  will  soon  find  another 
companion,  and  continue  in  the  old  home,  indifferent  to 
the  fact  of  its  being  associated  in  the  mind  of  the  bird 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  55 

with  its  partners  deatli.  Indeed,  I  am  sorry  to  conclude, 
that  grief  at  the  loss  of  a  mate  is  of  very  short  duration 
usually,  notwithstanding  there  is  so  much  evidence  of 
their  faithfulness  to  marriage  vows  during  their  lives. 

The  familiar  little  sparrow-hawk  finally  offers  a  strik- 
ing instance  of  permanent  bird -marriage.  A  pair  of 
these  pretty  falcons  have  for  five  years  nested  near  the 
residence  of  a  neighbor,  and  when  the  labor  of  rearing 
their  young  was  ended,  they  retired  to  the  slielter  af- 
forded by  the  projecting  eaves  of  my  neighbor's  house, 
and  there  remained  until  tlie  following  spring.  Tliese 
birds  were  quite  as  affectionate  and  mutually  consid- 
erate in  winter,  as  when  they  had  the  common  interest 
of  offspring  to  keep  them  together. 

Dr.  Brewer  says  of  the  winter  falcon, "  These  hawks 
remain  mated  throughout  the  year,  and  their  affection- 
ate treatment  of  each  other  is  in  striking  contrast  with 
the  selfish  indifference  of  the  Eed-tail  species  w^hen 
their  breeding  season  is  ended." 

In  the  case  of  our  game  birds  and  others  that  are  sub- 
ject to  great  persecution,  the  chances  are,  of  course, 
against  both  parents  surviving  until  the  following  breed- 
ing season.  It  is  quite  possible  that  such  a  state  of  con- 
stant change  results  in  blunting  the  affections,  and  the 
association  of  the  sexes  becomes  a  mere  matter  of  tem- 
porary gratification,  something  akin  to,  but  not  so  gross 
as  the  habits  of  the  cowpen-bird,  which  is  never  mated, 
and  for  several  months  in  the  year  deposits  fertile  cggQ 
in  the  nests  of  other  birds,  and  sometimes  in  empty 
nests,  lono-  after  the  birds  who  built  them  had  rehired 
their  broods  and  departed. 


56  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

Polygamy  among  certain  of  our  birds  is  unquestiona- 
ble. I  have  positive  knowledge  of  this  among  quails, 
and,  probably,  purple  grakles ;  and  it  is  well  known  to 
be  true  of  that  introduced  pest,  the  European  sparrow. 
This  much  married  condition,  whatever  the  cause  that 
has  given  rise  to  it,  continues  from  year  to  year,  when 
occurring  among  crows,  as  I  have  proved  by  patient  ob- 
servation extending  over  several  years.  I  cannot  speak 
positively  with  reference  to  the  quails  ;  but  it  is  certain- 
ly true  of  the  sparrow  mentioned. 

"When  we  come  to  consider  the  summer  visitors,  or 
such  species  as,  wintering  in  the  south,  apj^ear  in  'New 
Jersey  late  in  April  or  in  May  and  remain  until  autumn, 
there  is  abundant  evidence  that  a  considerable  propor- 
tion of  them  are  permanently  mated.  Details  of  many 
long  series  of  observations  are  scarcely  necessary.  Suf- 
fice it  to  say,  that  I  have  very  carefully  studied  song- 
thrushes,  brown  thrushes,  cat-l)irds,  chats,  house-wrens, 
indigo-birds,  vireos  of  three  species,  and  others,  and  that 
the  same  individuals  reappeared  from  year  to  year,  in 
one  instance  for  eight  years,  I  am  fully  convinced.  It 
is,  indeed,  hard  to  realize  that  many  of  these  birds  should 
remain  together  for  so  long  a  time,  when  but  a  small 
part  of  each  year  is  spent  in  the  rearing  of  the  brood. 
It  is  quite  possible  that  they  do  not  retire  to  other  por- 
tions of  our  country  in  company;  but  it  does  appear 
that  they  part  with  a  mutual  understanding  to  meet 
again  when  separations  do  take  j^lace.  It  is  not  simply 
the  same  male  bird  or  the  same  female  that  reappears 
spring  after  spring,  but  the  same  ]3air  of  birds. 

In  conclusion,  let  me  call  attention  to  a  few  points 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  57 

bearing  upon  tliis  subject.  All  who  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  study  birds  in  their  native  haunts  have  no- 
ticed the  many  marked  individual  characteristics  of  each 
species.  One  soon  becomes  not  only  familiar  with  wrens 
as  wrens  and  cat-birds  as  cat-birds,  but  he  recognizes  in- 
dividuals among  them,  and  the  wren  that  nests  in  a  box 
near  by,  erected  for  his  accommodation,  very  soon  learns 
the  difference  between  the  occupants  of  a  house  who 
never  disturb  him  or  his,  and  a  stranger  of  whom  he  will 
at  first  be  distrustful.  I  do  not  think  I  am  putting  this 
matter  too  strongly. 

Remembering  the  individuality  of  a  pair  of  wrens  or 
cat-birds,  we  can  be  pretty  sure  whether  or  not  they  are 
the  same  pairs,  from  year  to  year,  that  come  to  our  bird- 
boxes  or  the  thicket. 

Again,  marked  peculiarities  in  the  construction  of 
nests,  if  repeated  year  after  year,  as  is  sometimes  the 
case,  suggests,  to  say  the  least,  that  the  builders  of  such 
nests  are  the  same  individuals. 

Another  consideration  is  the  remarkably  prompt  ap- 
j^earance  of  migratory  birds  at  their  former  nesting  sites. 
Not  merely  in  the  same  neighborhood,  but  near  tlie 
same  tree,  bush,  or  hollow  in  the  ground  ;  and  a  marked 
disposition  to  remain  there,  and  particularly  to  roost 
there  until  nesting  begins.  This  is  especially  true  of 
the  Baltimore  oriole,  which  I  have  often  found,  at  dawn 
of  the  day  of  his  arrival,  examining  the  remains  of  last 
year's  nest,  and  have  seen  him  commence  repairs  that 
same  day  when  the  structure  permitted  it.  His  mate  is 
usually  but  a  few  hours  later,  contrary  statements  not- 
withstanding ;  and  the  arrival  of  Madam  Oriole  was  not 
3" 


58  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

celebrated  by  any  billing  and  cooing.    They  were  plain- 
ly "  old  married  folks  "  before  tliey  came. 

Of  course,  in  the  lives  of  young  birds,  there  comes  a 
time  when  the  mingled  joys  and  sorrows  of  courtship 
must  be  undergone,  and  curious  scenes  are  yearly  to  be 
witnessed.  These  frantic  eiiorts  to  secure  the  smiles  of 
some  fair  one  have  been  elaborately  detailed  by  many 
ornithologists,  and  it  has  been  inferred  that  the  same 
ordeal  must  yearly  be  repeated ;  but  in  very  many  more 
instances  than  has  been  supposed,  I  believe  the  very  op- 
posite of  this  to  be  true. 

Having  brought  my  boat  again  to  the  main  creek,  I 
did  not  find  departure  from  the  "  Eest "  as  easy  as  ex- 
pected. By  brute  force,  of  course,  I  could  have  torn 
myself  away;  but  there  proved  to  be  too  much  yet  to 
see  to  warrant  my  obstinate  withdrawal,  for  now  that  I 
was  in  a  more  favorable  position  to  do  so,  I  made  a  crit- 
ical examination  of  the  banks  of  the  creek,  wholly  with 
reference  to  details.  I  knew  it  as  a  whole :  what  of  the 
component  parts  ?  Now,  for  the  first,  I  noticed  numbers 
of  those  beautiful  crimson  lilies,  which  are  worthy  of  a 
better  name  than  "  Turk's-cap." 

Towering  above  the  rank  underbrush,  determined  to 
catch  the  kisses  of  every  struggling  sunbeam,  were  the 
stout  and  stately  stems  of  this  queen  of  flowers,  six,  sev- 
en, and  one  eleven  feet  in  height,  each  with  many  fully 
expanded  red,  yellow,  and  black  blossoms.  When  I  first 
saw  them,  they  were  reflected  in  the  still,  dark  water  be- 
neath, till  a  sportive  zephyr  broke  the  glass  and  scattered 
innumerable  gems  that  mocked  the  queen-lily's  dignity. 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  59 

Not  only  the  lily,  but  sweetly-scented,  wliite- spiked 
cletlira  flowers  bloomed,  lialf-liidden,  close  to  the  water's 
edge,  its  snowy  blossoms  in  marked  contrast  to  the  brill- 
iancy of  the  scarlet  lobelia  growing  near ;  and  close  to 
my  boat,  and  over  all  the  shallows,  rank  j^ickerel-weed 
and.  coarser  splatter -dock,  tinted  the  waters  with  the 
bine  and  gold  of  their  bloom. 

I  will  not  admit  that  I  soon  tired  of  flowers,  but  when- 
ever afloat  I  am  never  unmindful  of  the  fishes.  At  the 
mouth  of  this  tributary  creek,  w^here  my  boat  was  now 
at  anchor,  the  water  was  very  clear  and  the  sand  and 
pebbles  at  the  bottom  plainly  in  view.  Scarcely  a  fish 
was  to  be  seen  for  several  minutes,  when  suddenly  a  pair 
of  lithe  and  active  stone-catfish  came  directly  beneath 
me.  They  interested  me  very  much  by  overturning  flat 
pebbles  gracefully  with  their  w^edge-like  snouts.  Occa- 
sionally a  stone  would  prove  a  little  heavier  than  antici- 
pated, when  the  fish's  whole  body  would  be  rapidly 
curved,  straightened  and  recurved,  as  if  to  squeeze  into 
its  nose  all  the  strength  that  it  possessed.  At  last,  over 
the  heavy  pebble  would  go,  and  with  a  quick,  nibbling 
motion  of  the  mouth,  the  newly  exposed  surface  would 
be  rifled  of  everything  acceptable  to  a  catfish's  palate. 

Although  these  two  fishes  were  constantly  near  to- 
gether, they  did  not  co-operate  in  any  of  the  stone-turn- 
ing. Nevertheless,  their  association  was  not  accidental, 
for  I  frequently  startled  them  by  thrusting  down  a  stick 
into  the  sand,  which  caused  them  immediately  to  dart 
away  at  the  same  instant ;  but  they  invariably  swam  in 
the  same  direction  and  returned,  swimming  side  by  side. 
They  evidently  derived  some  advantage,  or,  shall  I  say, 


60  WASTE-LAXD  WAXDERIXGS. 

comfort,  in  being  thus  intimately  associated,  but  the  why 
and  wherefore  of  it  all  I  failed  to  determine,  or  even  to 
get  so  much  of  a  clew  as  would  warrant  a  guess. 

It  was  but  a  few  days  ago  that  I  was  shown  a  fine 
adult  specimen  of  one  of  these  catfish,  then  in  an  aqua- 
rium, and  was  seriously  informed  that  it  was  a  hybrid 
"  between  an  eel  and  a  common  catfish."  As  this  would 
be  a  cross  between  fishes  of  different  families,  and  one, 
too,  a  marine  species,  so  far  as  its  breeding  is  concerned, 
it  would  have  been  a  novelty  indeed  had  it  been  the 
case.  Here  is  an  example  of  current  ignorance  worthy 
of  note.  This  species  of  catfish  is  not  very  abundant, 
it  is  true,  but  because  a  little  eel-like  in  its  shape,  igno- 
rance suggests  so  remarkable  a  solution  of  the  problem. 
"  What  is  it  ?"  Did  it  never  occur  to  the  namby-pamby, 
cid  hono  folks,  who  affect  to  decry  natural  history  stud- 
ies, that  the  universal  curiosity  of  mankind,  as  demon- 
strated by  the  certainty  that  the  question,  "  What  is  it  V^ 
will  be  asked,  whenever  any  strange  creature  is  exhib- 
ited, is  a  curiosity  worthy  of  satisfaction  ?  Can  these 
would-be  worthy  people  justify  themselves  in  endeavor- 
ing to  quench  a  desire  for  such  important  knowledge — 
a  desire  implanted  in  the  breast  of  nearly  every  child 
by  that  Creator  whom  they  suppose  they  are  reverenc- 
ing, but  are  really  insulting  ? 

The  tall  trees  in  the  distant  meadows  shut  out  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  the  dim  light  that  now 
prevailed  made  the  "Rest"  unutterably  gloomy.  Its 
larger  trees,  a  half-mile  distant,  were  wrapped  in  haze ; 
the  outlines  of  those  near  by  were  but  dimly  traced 
against  the  leaden  eastern  sky.     Every  flower  had  faded 


BUZZARD'S  REST.  Gl 

from  view.  Kotliing  invited.  All  repelled.  Yet  I  felt 
urged  by  some  unrecognized  influence  to  remain.  The 
influence  was  unmistakable.  It  compelled  a  course  of 
action  wholly  at  variance  with  my  plans  for  the  day. 
I  certainly  had  no  desire  to  float  idly  at  this  point  until 
nightfall  or  even  later.  I  was  hungry  and  supperless, 
yet  I  found  it  next  to  impossible  to  leave.  Thrice  my 
Iiand  reached  forward  to  the  anchor-chain;  thrice  I  let 
the  chain  fall  back  into  the  water  and  waited,  I  knew 
not  for  what. 

One  by  one  the  birds  in  the  thickets  ceased  their 
chirping ;  the  titmice  no  longer  whistled  ;  the  last  marsh- 
wren  of  the  day  sang  a  hurried  roundelay  and  sought  its 
nest  in  the  reeds ;  the  scattered  hylas  peeped  complain- 
ingly,  and  a  single  fretful  cat-bird  was  my  sole  compan- 
ion. He  soon  grew  tiresome,  and  I  longed  for  an  owl 
to  hoot  or  bittern  to  boom,  but  neither  uttered  a  sound. 
There  was  an  almost  noiseless  interim  of  half  an  hour, 
and  then  the  katydids  were  ready  to  begin  their  night- 
long concert.  Surely  I  had  not  waited  for  them  !  And 
half  angry  with  myself  for  remaining,  turned  once  more 
to  the  anchor,  when  I  marked  a  mere  speck  against  the 
dull  red  of  the  sunset  sky,  and  then  another  and  another. 
These  shapeless  dots  grew  steadily  in  bulk  and  soon  as- 
sumed definite  outlines.  They  were  gradually  coming 
nearer  and  nearer  to  where  I  waited,  and  each  quickly 
grew  to  a  bird  of  great  size,  as  it  passed  over  and  alighted 
on  the  birch-trees  beyond.     The  buzzards  had  returned. 

Quickly  shipping  my  anchor,  I  sculled  as  closely  as 
possible,  without  being  seen  by  them,  and  watched,  as 
best  I  might,  in  the  uncertain  and  rapidly  decreasing 


63  WASTE-LAND  WANDEPwINGS. 

liglit.  My  efforts  were  rewarded  by  tlie  acquisition  of 
one  fact.  The  buzzards  murmured  to  themselves  as 
they  settled  down  to  rest.  It  was  a  curious  sound.  'Not 
harshly  guttural,  as  might  be  imagined,  but  a  fairly 
smooth  and  soothing  utterance.  I  had  not  waited  for 
nothing.  For  the  first  time,  I  had  heard  a  turkey-buz- 
zard sing !  The  sounds  soon  ceased,  and  when  all  was 
quiet,  save  the  ceaseless  racket  of  the  katydids,  I  shouted 
loudly,  when,  with  a  pig-like  grunt,  each  buzzard  stood 
alert,  with  half-open  wings.  I  shouted  again.  Again 
the  answering  grunt,  but  not  one  left  its  perch.  I  re- 
mained quiet  for  a  few  minutes,  and  gradually  they 
sunk  again  to  more  easy  positions,  and  were  soon,  I 
hope,  asleep. 

For  the  third  time  I  withdrew  to  the  main  creek,  and 
as  I  turned  my  boat's  bow  homeward,  the  rising  moon 
flooded  with  silvery,  uncertain  light  the  deep  recesses  of 
the  leafy  "  Eest,"  and  there,  silent  as  the  eternal  hills, 
and  sharj)]y  limned  against  the  eastern  sky,  were  the 
weird  forms  of  twenty  slumbering  vultures.  It  was  an 
uncanny  sight. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WATSON'S  CROSSING. 

A  FORETASTE  of  Octobev,  ill  the  early  morning  of  liot 
August  days,  is  not  infrequently  the  experience  of  him 
who  is  astir  at  dawn.  Eecklessly  phmging  through  a 
fog-enveloped  wilderness  of  weeds,  I  chanced  upon  the 
bank  of  a  winsome  little  brook,  as  it  hurried  to  the  hid- 
den meadows  beyond.  The  world  was  yet  at  rest.  Be- 
yond the  rippling  of  the  water,  not  a  sound  was  heard 
save  the  muffled  crowing  of  a  distant  cock,  and  at  longer 
intervals  the  drowsy  barking  of  a  dog. 

I  watched  the  steady  flow  of  the  brimming  stream  for 
many  minutes,  and  at  last  the  chatter  of  the  squirrel, 
the  cry  of  the  flicker,  and  querulous  plaint  of  tiie  nut- 
hatch floated  from  the  hidden  trees,  and  with  them 
swept  by  a  chilly  breeze,  bringing  a  crimson  leaf  to 
where  I  sat.  Every  sound  suggested  autumn,  and  the 
leaf  forecasted  the  painted  forest. 

As  the  fog  rose,  the  shapely  gum-tree,  from  which  had 
come  the  pretty  leaf,  came  into  view,  and  half  its  foli- 
age was  as  ruddy  as  the  waif  that  I  held  in  my  hand. 
There  are  gum-trees  on  the  hill-side  that  drop  scores 
of  these  "autumn"  leaves  in  August,  as  surely  as  the 
month  rolls  round,  yet  my  neighbors  never  fail,  as  they 
pick  them  up,  to  wave  them  before  you  as  an  infallible 
sign  of  an  "  early  fall."     Dropping,  as  they  do,  in  Au- 


04  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

gnst,  I  admit  tliej  prove  an  early  fall,  but  for  them- 
selves only. 

But  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  boat,  and  propose  to  go 
"  'cross  lots,"  if  so  be  it  the  meadows  will  afford  a  foot- 
ing. It  is  not  wise  to  do,  except  at  this  time  of  year,  so 
treacherous  is  many  a  grassy  spot  when  the  springs  are 
full.  And  after  a  mile  or  more  of  tramping  over  soft 
ground,  how  one  longs  for  a  solid  rock  to  stand  upon ! 
An  uncertain  footing  is  a  source  of  weariness  not  only 
to  the  flesh  but  to  the  mind.  Try  poetizing  over  some 
gorgeous  meadow  bloom  while  your  feet  sink  deeper 
and  deeper  in  mud  of  unknown  depth,  and  tell  me  then 
whether  I  am  right  or  wrong.  There  is  a  curious  page  in 
my  note-book  where  half  the  lines  rhyme  with  one  four- 
lettered,  vigorous  exclamation  that  custom  taboos ;  but  a 
soothing  word,  under  some  circumstances,  nevertheless. 

The  nearest  rock  in  place,  from  where  I  stand,  is  some 
hundreds  or  thousands  of  feet  beneath  the  meadow  mud ; 
the  next  is  that  at  the  head  of  tide-water,  where  a  flinty- 
hard  ledge  crops  out  and  ripples  the  broad  and  shallow 
waters  of  the  Delaware. 

But  if  there  are  no  bed-rocks  here,  we  can  boast  of 
the  next  best  thing,  an  occasional  bowlder.  What  a 
marvellous  history  have  these  transported  fragments  of 
some  distant  mountain  ridge,  yet  how  few  are  w^illing  to 
listen  while  their  story  is  being  told.  The  great  ice 
age,  when  glaciers  and  floods  were  mightiest,  is  to  most 
a  myth ;  and  poor  palaeolithic  man  is  denied  recognition, 
in  spite  of  the  many  traces  he  has  left  of  his  sojourn  in 
the  river's  valley. 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  65 

I  know  of  two  fine  bowlders  in  the  meadows,  but  I  use 
them  only  for  stepping-stones — never  as  texts.  My  last 
public  talk  about  them  was  disastrous.  "There's  the 
stones,  as  you  say,"  remarked  one  of  my  audience,  "and 
the  lunertic  'sylum,  a  big  pile  of  stone,  is  four  miles  up 
the  river."  I  made  no  reply,  and  to  this  day  that  gray- 
beard  passes  in  and  out  as  a  Solon,  and  I  am  the  crank. 

One  of  these  bowlders  is  milky-white  and  very  hard, 
and  so  much  of  its  surface  as  is  exposed  is  very  smooth. 
I  formerly  thought  that  if  it  had  been  lying  in  a  higher 
and  drier  meadow,  the  Indians  would  have  made  use 
of  it,  and  perhaps  have  carved  some  curious  image  upon 
it,  and  I  was  right,  after  all.  Recently,  the  low  stage  of 
water  gave  me  the  chance  to  examine  it  closely,  and 
upon  one  side  there  are  shallow  depressions,  where  celts 
were  sharpened.  Such  marks  are  unmistakable.  IN^ot 
fifty  rods  away  there  is  a  knoll  that  the  highest  freshets 
only  partly  cover,  and  the  ashes  of  the  Indians'  camp- 
fires  are  there  exposed  whenever  the  sod  is  broken. 
And  there,  when  it  was  last  ploughed,  I  found  a  dozen 
celts,  perhaps  every  one  shaped  and  sharpened  on  this 
very  bowlder  in  the  marsh. 

The  higher  banks  of  the  meadow  ditches  are  still 
densely  green,  and  as  the  eye  glances  along  the  leafy 
wall  it  is  seldom  that  it  catches  a  bit  of  color.  It  was 
not  so  to-day.  As  I  skirted  the  south  side  of  Faxon's 
Brook  I  found  a  great  cluster  of  rosy  centaury.  It  was 
backed  by  ferns  and  bitter-sweet,  the  latter  laden  with 
its  orange  berries.  ISTothing  to  equal  it  have  I  seen 
this  summer.     Centaury  is  to  be  looked  for  in  high  and 


66  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

dry  localities,  according  to  the  text-books  ;  but  I  know 
of  no  other  spot  where  it  grows  in  such  luxuriance  as 
here.  Has  some  recent  freshet  brought  the  seed  from 
a  distant  point  2  And  from  this  sj^ot  onward,  until  I 
reached  my  boat,  there  was  color  everywhere.  I  an- 
ticipated a  red-letter  day  in  consequence. 

For  no  half-mile  of  the  creek's  course  is  it  so  astonish- 
ingly crooked  as  where  we  approach  its  next  point  of 
interest,  Watson's  Crossing ;  for  thus  it  was  known  in 
colonial  days,  and  by  this  name  only  shall  I  hereafter 
mention  it.  The  railroad  crosses  the  creek  at  this  point, 
and  the  farmers  unmindful  of  the  earlier  and  better 
history  of  the  place,  or  else  ignorant  of  it,  call  this  twist 
of  the  stream  "  High  Bridge."  Fortunately,  the  railroad 
passes  over  a  trestle  sixty  feet  in  the  air,  and  is,  more- 
over, so  shut  in  by  trees  that  it  does  not  materially  affect 
the  absolute  wildness  of  the  spot. 

While  beautiful  at  all  times,  Watson's  Crossing  is 
charming  now.  Lusty  button  -  bushes  crowd  its  banks, 
and  jut  out,  as  small  peninsulas,  at  every  turn.  They 
are  now  at  their  best,  heavy  with  perfect  globes  of  deli- 
cate white  bloom.  Creeping  over  many  is  the  venture- 
some Rutland  beauty.  So  lithe  a  growth,  so  fair  a  face, 
Rutland  may  well  be  proud  of  her  charms  ;  and  it  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at  that  she  blooms  onlv  where  the  wa- 
ters  beneath  afford  her  a  mirror,  in  which,  while  the  day 
lasts,  she  can  gaze  admiringly. 

E'estling  about  the  roots  of  the  button-bushes,  and  in- 
deed wherever  it  is  permanently  shady,  grows  the  in- 
conspicuous ground-nut,  now  in  full  bloom.  The  flow- 
ers are  small,  sweetly  scented,  darkly  purple  and  brown, 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  07 

and  tlieir  shape  recalls  to  me  those  gloomy  drab  bonnets 
such  as  every  strict  Quakeress  wore,  or  still  wears,  for 
anght  I  know.  It  is  an  ap23ropriate  blossom  for  these 
Quaker  grounds. 

The  Indians  held  this  plant  in  high  esteem.  Peter 
Kalm,  the  Swedish  naturalist,  found  it  abundantly  in 
southern  Jersey,  and  remarks  concerning  it :  "  Ilopniss 
or  Ilapniss  was  the  Indian  name  of  a  wild  plant,  which 
they  ate  at  that  time.  The  Swedes  still  call  it  by  that 
name,  and  it  grows  in  the  meadows  in  a  good  soil.  The 
roots  resemble  small  potatoes,  and  were  boiled  by  the 
Indians,  who  eat  them  instead  of  bread.  Some  of  the 
Swedes  at  that  time  likewise  ate  this  root  for  want  of 
bread.  Some  of  the  English  still  eat  them  instead  of 
potatoes.  Mr.  Bartram  told  me  that  the  Indians  who 
live  farther  in  the  country  do  not  only  eat  these  roots, 
which  are  equal  in  goodness  to  jDotatoes,  but  likewise 
take  the  pease  which  ly  in  the  pods  of  this  plant,  and 
prepare  them  like  common  pease." 

As  my  boat  floated  slowly  down  the  creek,  just  clear- 
ing the  bushes,  I  was  struck  with  the  vast  numbers  of 
primroses.  The  flower-stalks  stood  far  above  the  sur- 
rounding grass  and  weeds,  and  every  blossom  fully 
blown,  they  made  a  magnificent  display.  In  color  a 
light  or  greenish  yellow,  they  contrasted  strongly  with 
the  frequent  clusters  of  dark,  almost  orange,  Eudbeckias, 
six  and  seven  feet  in  height.  These  were  here  the 
most  conspicuous  flowers,  and  dwarfed  to  utter  insignifi- 
cance another  yellow  bloom,  a  St.  John's-wort,  growing 
in  the  grass,  and  quite  hidden,  except  for  the  profusion 
of  its  small,  golden-tinted  flowers.     I  looked  in  vain  for 


68  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

other  colors.  All,  like  the  Assyrian's  cohorts,  were  gleam- 
ing with  purple  and  gold.  But  if  not  flowers  of  other 
hues,  there  were  stately  trees  in  abundance,  and  here 
the  lindens  and  hornbeams  gave  place  to  sycamores,  wil- 
lows, swamp  white-oaks,  birch,  sumac,  locust,  butternut, 
and  hickory.  A  greater  contrast  in  foliage  could  not 
well  be  imagined  tlian  these  trees  afforded. 

Passing  through  a  small  forest  of  the  trees  mentioned, 
I  came  to  the  scanty  remaining  traces  of  a  once  busy 
place.  Two  hundred  and  one  years  ago  Matthew  "Wat- 
son, having  spent  two  years  in  the  village  of  Burlington, 
after  his  arrival  from  England,  came  to  the  south  bank 
of  the  creek  and  finding  it  a  "  goodly  spot,  well  worthy 
of  settlement  and  cultivation,"  did  purchase  the  same 
forthwith ;  builded  a  "  most  comfortable  and  generous 
house,"  and  put  under  cultivation  ''  rich  acres  on  every 
side,  excepte  where  the  Creek  runneth,  on  my  north- 
bounds,  and  here  have  I  builded  of  stout  oaken  logs  a 
most  commodious  and  well  appointed  wharf ;  and  from 
it,  there  is  dispatched  each  weeke  a  shallop  of  40  tons 
burthen,  also  builded  of  oaken  timber,  cutte  from  my  tim- 
ber tract."  So  runs  the  record,  and  in  1703,  when  Mat- 
thew died,  there  was  no  busier  site  on  this  same  creek. 
But  prior  to  this  the  spot  had  not  been  a  forsaken  wil- 
derness. An  Indian  trail  from  the  Delaware,  across  the 
State  to  the  sea,  crossed  the  creek  quite  near,  and  the 
narrow  path  was  marked  at  the  toj)  of  the  "  bold  north 
shore"  by  an  enormous  tulip -tree,  which  reaching  far 
above  the  surrounding  forest  growths,  was  a  landmark 
to  be  seen  for  many  miles.  The  bluff  here  was  less 
steep  than  usual,  and  for  an  acre  or  more  was  covered 


WATSOX'S  CROSSING.  69 

with  walnut,  butternut,  and  hickory  trees,  supposed  to 
have  been  planted  by  the  Indians. 

A  century  ago  the  spot  was  known  as  "Gun -slip," 
and  only  recently  has  this  meaningless  name  been  cor- 
rectly explained.  It  is  a  corruption  of  "  Oconio's  leap," 
and  the  story  of  two  centuries  ago  ran  that  a  Unami  Ind- 
ian of  that  name  once  climbed  nearly  to  tlie  top  of  the 
tree  to  rob  an  eagle's  nest,  when  the  eagles  attacked  him. 
Seeing  that  his  safety  lay  in  sudden  flight  only,  he  gave 
a  mighty  leap,  ho2:)ing  to  alight  unharmed  among  the 
thick-set  branches  of  the  trees  beneath ;  but  that  the  old 
she-eagle  caught  him  as  he  jumped,  and  let  him  down 
gently  to  the  ground.  A  beautiful  example  of  a  nursery 
tale  told  by  matter-of-fact  Quakers. 

It  was  here,  just  a  year  ago,  that  I  stopped  to  talk 
with  a  neighbor,  and  he  told  me  a  strange  story.  lie 
had  been  mowing,  some  weeks  before,  a  rank  growth  of 
weeds,  and  while  thus  engaged,  noticed  a  few  paces  be- 
fore him  a  clump  of  elders  about  which  a  pair  of  little 
yellow  warblers  were  constantly  flying,  as  though  in 
trouble.  Suddenly  one  of  them  flew  directly  in  his  face, 
snapping  its  bill  and  chirping  excitedly.  Not  stopping 
his  work,  the  mower  was  again  and  again  saluted  in  the 
same  manner,  and  he  saw  that  the  bird's  actions  meant 
nnmistakably  a  protest  against  his  farther  progress.  He 
quit  mowing,  and  the  bird  flew  back  to  the  bushes.  lie 
cut  another  swath,  and  brought  the  bird  back  almost  at 
the  same  moment.  The  mower's  curiosity  was  now 
thoroughly  aroused.  He  walked  ahead  to  the  buslies 
and  found  a  nest  containing  young  birds.  "Weeks  af- 
ter, I  went  to   the   place,  and   found    the   cluster   of 


70  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

elders  as  lie  left  tliem.     The  nest  now  was,  of  course, 
empty. 

I  see  no  reason  why  this  should  be  doubted.  I  have 
knowledge  of  many  incidents  quite  similar  to  the  above, 
and  were  dogs  or  even  cats  the  heroes,  such  anecdotes, 
when  narrated,  would  create  but  little  surprise. 

There  seems  to  be  a  very  general  impression  that  in- 
telligence among  animals  increases  as  they  ascend  the 
scale  of  anatomical  structure.  I  cannot  think  so.  Years 
of  familiarity  with  a  multitude  of  varied  forms  of  life, 
lower  than  mammals  or  than  birds  even,  have  led  me  to 
conclude  that  in  the  more  simply  organized  brains  may 
be  localized  intelligences  that  outrank  those  of  struct- 
urally higher  animals.  The  element  of  danger  in  a 
creature's  environment  is  one  great  stimulus  to  a  de- 
velopment of  mother-wit,  and  those  that,  in  spite  of  a 
multiplicity  of  enemies,  continue  to  liold  their  own,  ex- 
liibit  far  more  frequent  evidence  of  effective  brain-power 
than  do  such  as  by  brute  force,  or  exceptional  facility  in 
escaping  attack,  maintain  their  places  among  us. 

I  should  not  expect  to  find  marked  evidence  of  fore- 
thought among  opossums  or  even  squirrels,  but  that  a 
comparatively  helpless  little  warbler  should  display  such 
wisdom  does  not  surprise  me,  although  the  danger  threat- 
ened its  young  and  not  itself. 

My  neighbor's  story  of  the  little  warblers  recalled  the 
fate  of  a  brood  of  king-rails  in  my  mucky  meadow. 
The  tangled  white-joint  grass  was  being  cut,  and  stead- 
ily over  the  marshy  stretch  the  mower  forced  his  way. 
Not  a  bird  there  but  must  have  heard  the  meaning 
"  swish  "  of  the  deadly  blade,  if  it  did  not  divine  what 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  71 

the  sound  meant.  The  blackbirds  hovered  overhead 
and  protested  at  the  invasion  of  their  weedy  haunts,  al- 
though their  young  had  been  long  upon  the  wing.  The 
liquid  notes  of  the  swamp  -  sparrow  trickled  from  the 
hedge-row,  mourning,  I  thought,  that  the  protecting  grass 
should  be  no  more ;  and  all  unmoved  upon  its  nest  sat 
a  king-rail,  which,  deprived  of  its  earlier  brood,  was  pa- 
tiently rearing  another.  There  it  sat,  and  another  sweep 
of  the  scythe  would  pass  closely  over  it,  if  not,  indeed, 
through  the  poor  bird's  body.  Tlie  mower  drew  nearer, 
with  arms  drawn  back,  when,  quick  as  a  flash  of  light, 
the  bird  fled  from  the  swift  stroke  of  the  shining  blade, 
and,  with  a  wild  cry,  forsook  her  nest.  An  armful  of 
grass  was  piled  about  it,  and  the  mower  passed  on.  Tow- 
ards evening  the  poor  bird  returned,  but  only  to  find  her 
young  dead  from  neglect  or  exposure. 

Again  and  again,  in  the  gloaming,  I  heard  the  wild 
cries  of  the  bereaved  king-rail,  as  it  seemed  to  utter 
curses  on  those  who  would  not  leave  unmolested  even 
that  little  tract  of  waste  land. 

As  I  tarried  a  moment  to  examine  the  curiously  twist- 
ed branches  of  an  overhanging  maple,  I  noticed  a  broad 
hemlock  slab  floating  towards  the  boat,  and  when  quite 
near,  discovered  that  it  was  burdened  with  a  living 
freight.  Coiled  upon  a  mat  of  dead  leaves  that  had 
lodged  or  been  placed  upon  the  slab,  was  an  enormous 
water-snake.  While  it  was  yet  at  its  ease,  and  I  at  mine, 
I  examined  the  couch  of  the  sleepy,  if  not  sleeping,  ser- 
pent as  best  I  could  from  a  distance.  It  appeared  to 
have  no  coarse  material  in  it,  but  made  up  of  just  such 


73  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

stuffs  as  were  suited  for  a  comfortable  bed.  I  am  dis- 
posed to  believe  that  water-snakes  gather  these  bunches 
of  dead  grass  and  leaves,  rather  than  trust  to  finding  a 
suitable  hap-hazard  accumulation.  It  is  true,  I  never 
surprised  one  of  them  while  at  work,  but  base  my  sug- 
gestion primarily  upon  the  fact  of  the  uniformity  of  the 
materials.  Drifted  rubbish,  I  take  it,  would  be  of  a 
more  mixed  character. 

Again,  I  have  had  for  some  weeks  an  exquisite  little 
green  snake  in  a  Wardian  case.  It  has  chosen  one  cor- 
ner for  its  resting-place,  and  has  arranged  the  mosses  in 
such  a  neat  fashion  that  nest-building  in  a  primitive  way 
seems  to  be  a  practice  with  some  serpents.  My  little 
green  snake  had  hard  work  to  remove  one  obstacle,  but 
by  dint  of  pushing  and  prying  finally  succeeded,  and 
worked  more  ingeniously  than  if  it  had  carried  materials 
in  its  mouth,  as  a  water-snake  would  have  to  do.  So 
much  for  a  snake's  bed  :  does  its  occupant  ever  think  ? 
What  transpires  in  its  brain,  as  it  stares  you  so  boldly  in 
the  face?  I  wish  the  problem  could  be  solved.  If  not 
intelligence,  what  can  it  be  that  gives  such  a  meaning 
expression  to  its  glistening  eyes  ? 

The  snake's  raft  and  my  boat  came  slowly  together. 
Eeclining  at  full  length,  I  leaned  over  the  bow,  and  in 
a  few  seconds  was  within  reach.  Very  deliberately  I 
moved  my  hand  over  the  gunwale  and  reached  outward. 
The  snake  was  watching  my  hand  rather  than  me.  It 
did  not  dart  its  pretty  tongue,  but  stared.  I  reached  to 
within  six  inches  of  its  body,  and  was  about  to  clasp  my 
fingers  over  one  of  its  coils,  when  with  a  lightning-like 
snap  it  bit  my  thumb  severely,  released  its  hold,  and  was 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  73 

gone.  I  could  not  but  laugli  immoderately  at  the  pre- 
cipitancy of  its  retreat  after  nipping  my  thumb.  The 
snake  was  really  an  arrant  coward.  But  to  return  to  the 
question :  if  the  snake  was  not  thinking,  and  as  prede- 
termined to  bite  as  I  was  to  touch,  what  was  the  creat- 
ure's brain  doing  during  those  anxious  moments?  Can 
w^e  imagine  any  other  tlian  a  mental  activity  such  as  is 
known  to  be  possessed  by  man  ?  What  intelligence  or 
mind  may  be,  I  have  not  the  most  remote  conception, 
beyond  its  intimate  connection  with  the  brain  ;  but  after 
a  lifetime  spent  in  studying  our  familiar  wild  animals,  I 
have  utterlv  failed  to  find  other  mental  differences  be- 
tween  them  and  mankind  than  those  of  deofree. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  enthusiasm  on  the  part 
of  the  observer  may  "saturate  its  object  .  .  .  with 
thoughts,  ideas,  and  emotions  foreign  to  its  intrinsic 
nature."  Is  not  this  an  admission  that  "  thoua:hts,  ideas, 
and  emotions,"  not  foreign,  may  be  generated  by  a 
snake's  brain?  If  so,  I  have  erred  only  in  misinter- 
preting, quite  insignificantly,  their  mental  powers. 

When  this  same  snake  is  speeding  through  the  water, 
or  creeping  cautiously  through  the  meadow-grass,  in 
pursuit  of  prey,  it  knows  that  speed  is  necessary  to  ca2)t- 
ure  a  fish,  and  caution  required  to  secure  a  mouse;  and 
during  the  act,  what  thought  but  tliat  a  given  plan, 
learned  by  experience,  must  be  followed  out?  How 
does  man  differ  from  all  this  ?  Does  not  the  hunter, 
in  pursuit  of  game,  follow  much  the  same  rules,  and,  so 
far  as  his  proper  business  is  concerned,  think  practically 
the  same  thoughts  ? 

To  return  to  the  irate  serpent  of  the  raft :  it  had  no 
4 


74  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

intention  of  leaving  its  comfortable  quarters  perma- 
nently, and  before  my  boat  had  drifted  half  its  length, 
had  reappeared  and  was  resting  its  head  and  neck  upon 
the  slab.  As  I  made  no  ofiensive  motion,  it  soon  crawled 
again  to  its  old  place,  but  never,  for  a  second,  lost  sight 
of  me.  The  snake  in  returning  so  promptly,  after  show- 
ing itself  a  coward  not  five  minutes  before,  was  thor- 
oughly contradictory,  and  I  could  only  think  that  here 
af^-ain  we  have  a  mental  characteristic  that  is  remark- 
ably  well  developed  in  man. 

'kext  to  the  mooted  point,  the  maximum  length  of 
a  water -snake,  or  of  any  species  of  serpent,  is  that  of 
the  creature's  age.  My  neighbors  seem  to  believe  that 
death  only  comes  through  violence.  While  I  have  been 
altogether  unsuccessful  in  my  efforts  to  determine  these 
points,  I  have  found  that  the  common  water -snake 
grows  more  and  more  slowly  each  year,  and  when  the 
supposed  maximum  size  is  reached  —  about  six  feet — 
a  considerable  length  of  years  is  yet  before  the  creat- 
ure, if  no  ill-luck  crosses  its  path.  A  snake  of  this 
species,  and  of  about  the  length  mentioned,  lived  un- 
der a  stone  wall  in  Laurie's  mill-pond  for  seventeen 

years. 

Judging  from  his  dingy  colors,  his  sluggish  move- 
ments when  in  the  water,  and  apparent  love  of  cpiiet, 
the  snake  I  saw  to-day  had  probably  weathered  a  quarter 
of  a  century,  and  long  may  he  continue  to  flourish ! 

It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  wherever  the  early  set- 
tlers chose  a  site  for  a  village  or  laid  out  a  highway, 
they  found  that  the  Indians  had  preceded  them.     Prob- 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  75 

ably  every  road,  two  centuries  ago,  was  the  route  of  an 
Indian  trail,  and  the  sites  of  every  community,  whether 
of  Dutch,  Swedes,  or  English,  were  those  of  Indian  vil- 
lages. It  was  the  case  here,  at  AVatson's  wharf.  The 
Indian  jxath  crossed  the  creek,  a  few  rods  down  tlie 
stream,  and  where  the  wharf  was,  stood,  long  years  be- 
fore, a  group  of  wigwams.  Here  is  a  positive  statement, 
yet  never  a  white  man  saw  them,  nor  did  Indian  ever 
l^oint  out  the  spot  as  the  former  home  of  some  of  his 
people.  Since  that  distant  day,  when  the  red  men  aban- 
doned it,  until  now,  it  has  never  been  known.  It  is  my 
own  good-fortune  to  bring  it  into  the  light  of  the  pres- 
ent. By  a  mere  chance,  I  became  a  discoverer.  It  is 
a  pleasant  experience,  and  as  trace  after  trace  of  the 
former  occupants  were  brought  to  view,  I  pictured  to 
myself  every  phase  of  their  quiet  lives  while  dwelling 
here. 

The  last  rain  had  gullied  the  terrace  and  uprooted  a 
small  tree,  and  on  the  newly  exposed  soil  I  found  many 
fragments  of  pottery.  It  was  this  that  led  me  to  ex- 
plore the  spot  more  completely,  and  bring  to  light  what- 
ever else  it  might  contain.  Tiie  earth  itself  was  deeply 
discolored  by  minute  fragments  of  charcoal  and  the  di- 
rect action  of  fire,  while  the  circle  of  large  white  stones 
that  defined  a  hearth  were  still  in  place.  Witliin  the 
enclosure  there  was  one  of  those  curious  slabs  of  slaty 
rock,  with  a  number  of  circular  j^ts  on  one  side,  that 
are  reasonably  supposed  to  have  been  used  as  lapstones, 
and  that  when  the  Indian  cracked  nuts,  he  placed  them 
in  the  pits  to  prevent  their  slipping  from  under  the 
hammer.     It  is  a  curious  fact  that  these  pitted  stones 


76  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

are  more  common  where  nut-trees  are  abundant  than 
else^vhere. 

A  cylindrical  pebble,  nearly  two  feet  in  length  and 
made  perfectly  symmetrical  by  pecking  away  every  in- 
equality, brought  to  mind  the  early  cornfields  of  the 
neighborhood;  for  the  cultivation  of  maize  is  indissolu- 
bly  connected  with  the  history  of  the  Indian.  These 
pestles  were  used  in  crushing  the  corn  in  wooden  mor- 
tars, usually  made  of  the  wood  of  our  sour  gum,  which 
the  Delawares  called  by  the  short  and  euphonious  name, 
tachquachcaniminschL 

The  omnipresent  axe  and  arrow-heads  were  likewise 
buried  in  the  earth  and  ashes,  and  just  beyond  the 
hearth-circle  w^as  a  dozen  or  more  flat  pebbles,  notched 
on  two  sides,  which  were  once  the  weights  of  a  fish- 
net. 

Continuing  the  search,  I  found  a  fragment  of  clay  to- 
bacco-pi23e,  and  finally,  deepest  down  of  all,  a  bear's 
claw,  a  perforated  fossil  shark-tooth,  and  a  carved  steatite 
trinket.  Could  I  but  have  found  a  trace  of  the  old 
hunter's  canoe,  there  would  have  been  no  chapter  want- 
ing of  his  life's  history. 

The  discovery  of  such  wigwam  sites  is  not  an  unu- 
sual occurrence,  and  but  one  mystery  hangs  over  them. 
Why,  when  they  were  abandoned,  was  not  the  personal 
property  of  the  occupants  carried  away  ?  The  axe,  the 
pestle,  the  pitted  slab,  the  arrow-heads,  the  several  orna- 
ments were  perfect,  yet  here  they  were,  lying  in  the 
blackened  earth,  as  though  intentionally  thrown  into  the 
fire.  Did  the  Unamis,  the  Delawares  of  the  Crosswicks 
valley,  burn  the  house,  w^ith  all  that  it  contained,  when 


WATSOX'S  CROSSING.  77 

one  of  their  people  died?  The  appearance  of  this 
''find"  was  certainly  snggestive  of  such  a  custom.  Yet 
it  was  one  that  did  not  always  hold  good,  for  they  are 
known  to  have  had  extensive  cemeteries,  where  very 
different  but  no  less  elaborate  funeral  rites  were  ob- 
served. 

It  is  useless  to  conjecture  just  when  this  Indian  had 
his  "  wattled  hut "  at  this  place.  That  it  was  many  cen- 
turies ago  is  probable ;  the  absence  of  articles  of  Euro- 
pean manufacture  is  indicative  of  this ;  but  the  fact  that 
it  might  have  been  less  than  five  hundred  years  ago 
does  not  w\arrant  the  popular  notion  that  the  Indians 
are  but  recent  comers  to  these  parts.  "When  all  the  ev- 
idences of  their  antiquity  are  duly  considered,  it  must 
be  admitted  that  the  final  migration  of  the  Delaware 
Indians  to  New  Jersey  occurred  centuries  prior  to  the 
Christian  era. 

Startling  though  the  assertion  may  be,  it  is  safe  to 
affirm  that  the  Indian  was  preceded  by  an  even  ruder 
people.  Sift  the  meadow  mud  through  your  fingers, 
and  then  search  the  underlying  gravels ;  for  not  until 
this  is  done  will  you  have  read  the  story  of  the  races, 
backward,  to  the  beginning.  The  occupancy  by  man 
of  the  valley  of  the  Delaware,  and  of  this  creek,  is  divis- 
ible into  three  distinct  periods — the  Indian,  wdiom  all 
know  ;  the  Eskimo,  whom  few  have  suspected ;  and  far- 
thest back  the  scarcely  recognized  palaeolithic  man,  who 
"was  no  more  capable  of  making  a  stone  arrow-head 
than  he  was  of  building  a  pyramid." 

Writes  a  celebrated  archaeologist  in  the  North  Amer- 
ican Review : 


78  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

"  Yv^lio  were  tlie  earliest  inhabitants  of  America,  and 
when  did  they  live  ?  are  questions  which  have  generally 
been  approached  solely  from  the  point  of  view  offered 
by  discoveries  in  the  United  States.  ...  In  the  follow- 
ing essay  I  propose  to  deal  with  them  as  portions  of  one 
great  problem  common  to  the  Old  and  'New  Worlds, 
and  to  show  that  the  first  traces  of  man,  as  yet  discov- 
ered, prove  him  to  have  lived  in  the  same  low  stage  of 
culture  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  at  a  time  when 
the  hands  of  the  geological  clock  pointed  to  the  same 
hour  over  the  greater  part  of  the  world.  The  story  of 
early  man  in  America  is  a  part  of  the  greater  story  of 
the  first  appearance  of  man  on  the  earth,  so  far  as  he  has 
yet  been  revealed  by  modern  discovery." 

So  I  am  not  alone  in  the  advocacy  of  very  ancient 
American  man ;  but  ask  me  for  no  particulars  concern- 
ing the  important  questions  of  origin  or  antiquity.  Of 
the  latter  only  will  I  say,  it  is  a  matter  of  "  time  rela- 
tive "  and  not  of  "  time  absolute." 

Having  gathered  up  my  treasures  and  returned  to  the 
boat,  I  quickly  forgot  the  Indians  when  again  afloat,  and 
a  few  yards'  progress  brought  in  view  the  most  gorgeous 
disj^lay  of  yellow  bloom  I  had  yet  seen.  It  was  the  yel- 
low Gerardia,  and  although  abundant  up  and  down  the 
creek,  is  nowhere  else  so  luxuriant.  I  gathered  an  arm- 
ful of  the  rank  flower-stalks,  and  while  returning  to  the 
boat,  was  forced  to  stand  a  moment  and  admire  a  fruit 
as  yellow  as  the  bloom  I  carried.  It  was  the  climbing 
Celastrus,  but  in  this  case  was  a  bush  rather  than  a  vine. 
The  crop  of  berries  that  it  bore  was  simj^ly  enormous. 
Again,  at  the  very  water's  edge,  was  a  yellow  hawk- 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  79 

weed,  and  it  was  with  unfeigned  pleasure  that,  half  a 
rod  distant,  I  could  buiy  my  boat  in  a  wilderness  of  cle- 
matis, now  in  the  very  height  of  its  blooming. 

While  I  lingered  here,  a  pretty  butterfly,  the  red  ad- 
miral, alighted  upon  my  knee  as  I  was  writing,  and 
seemed  wholly  at  ease  in  this  imusual  position.  Some- 
thing upon  my  clothes  was  attractive  to  it,  and  the 
graceful  movements  of  its  proboscis,  and  occasional 
down-dipping  of  one  antenna  and  then  the  other  was 
amusing.  I  noticed  that  the  right  and  left  wing  moved 
separately  down  and  up,  as  though  to  retain  the  creat- 
ure's balance,  which  the  w^ind  threatened,  and  at  each 
such  movement  of  the  wings  the  corresponding  antennae 
likewise  dipped.  This  butterfly  occasionally  flew  to  the 
bushes  near  by,  but  never  to  remain  long  away,  and 
sooner  or  later  returned  and  was  my  companion  for  a 
great  part  of  the  day. 

An  acre  or  two  of  neglected  meadow  reaches  to  the 
creek's  shore,  a  half  mile  distant,  and  now  it  is  brow- 
deep  in  boneset.  It  was  scarcely  penetrable,  and  a  par- 
adise for  butterflies  and  bees.  Many  of  the  latter,  in- 
deed, took  my  intrusion  rather  ill-naturedly,  buzzing 
and  staring  me  in  the  face,  but  none  stung  me.  The 
common  milk-weed  butterfly  was  remarkably  abundant, 
and  made  good  the  remarks  of  Scudder  concerning  them : 
"  Having  multiplied  to  excess,  vast  swarms  are  found  to- 
gether;  together  they  mount  in  the  air  to  lofty  heights, 
as  no  other  butterfly  appears  to  do,  and  play  about  in 
ceaseless  gyrations ;  and  sometimes  they  crowd  so  thick- 
ly upon  a  tree  or  bush  as  by  their  color  to  chanire  its 
w^hole  ai32)earance."     This  they  did  to-day,  and  a  small 


80  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

sassafras  sapling  was  so  covered  that  tliey  appeared  to 
outnumber  the  leaves,  and  gave  the  tree  a  permaturely 
frost-bitten  appearance.  I  cautiously  drew  near,  and 
counted  one  hundred  and  seven  of  them,  and  there  were 
almost  as  many  more.  Then  giving  tlie  tree  a  vigorous 
shaking,  they  all  took  flight,  and  made  a  distinct  rustling 
noise  as  they  did  so.  They  did  not  mount  the  air  to 
any  height,  but  scattered  over  the  snowy  boneset  blos- 
soms, and  reminded  me  of  an  October  shower  of  painted 
leaves. 

A  migration  of  what  was  unquestionably  this  species 
of  butterfly  took  place  near  by,  in  September  of  1881. 
They  fiCW  at  a  height  of  probably  two  hundred  yards 
only,  and  moved  in  a  long,  narrow  body,  that  took  an 
hour  to  pass  a  given  jDoint.  The  migration  is  known  to 
have  extended  twenty -five  miles,  and  if  the  direction 
was  not  changed,  or  the  journey  ended,  a  few  hours 
would  have  brought  them  to  the  sea.  It  is  rather  curi- 
ous that  several  such  migrations  occurred  at  about  this 
time  in  the  New  England  and  Middle  States.  Since 
then  I  have  not  seen  it  repeated. 

Associated  with  the  bees  and  butterflies  that  sucked 
endless  sweets  from  the  fragrant  boneset  were  hundreds 
of  beautiful  dragon-flies.  These  darted  everywhere  in 
the  most  erratic  manner,  but  did  not  seem  to  molest  any 
other  creature.  I  counted  five  distinct  species,  some  of 
which  were  brilliantly  colored.  These  insects  also  mi- 
grate in  countless  thousands ;  and  often  the  air  is  filled 
with  them,  flying  at  a  considerable  elevation,  all  in  the 
same  direction,  and  taking  hours  and  even  days  to  pass 
a  given  point. 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  81 

Wliile  tlic  bloom  above  was  crowded  with  busy  life, 
the  ground  beneath  appeared  to  harbor  no  creature  of 
any  kind.  I  looked  in  vain  for  a  frog,  snake,  toad,  or 
turtle  ;  but  no  sooner  had  I  passed  the  meadow's  bound- 
ary than  I  found  all  four  of  them.  A  water-snake  was 
hurrying  creekward  with  a  toad  in  its  jaws,  and  a  frog 
sat  near,  as  though  contemplating  the  toad's  fate,  and 
perhaps  wondering  if  its  turn  would  come  next.  I  re- 
leased the  toad,  which  hopped  away  gleefully  and  rpiite 
unhurt,  and  the  snake  savagely  bit  at  my  hand  for  dis- 
possessing it  of  its  lawful  prey.  The  bite  was  but  a 
pin -prick,  scarcely  bringing  the  blood,  although  the 
snake  was  a  large  one. 

Every  creek,  I  suppose,  has  its  monsters ;  usually  of 
serpentine  shape,  although  not  always.  The  older  fish- 
ermen about  here  still  insist  upon  a  wonderful  water- 
snake,  sometimes  captured  but  never  killed.  There  is 
one  curious  feature  about  these  stories.  They  all  refer 
to  adventures  in  the  lives  of  older  men,  now  dead.  No 
one  living  has  ever  caught  the  Crosswicks  sea-serpent ; 
but  as  soon  as  an  old  man  dies,  it  is  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  he  did  have  such  an  experience.  Comment 
is  unnecessary.  ISTevertheless,  there  are  big  snakes, 
large  turtles,  and  many  overgrown  fishes  in  the  creek, 
and  an  occasional  lona  fide  specimen  is  exhibited  at  the 
cross-roads  tavern,  and  subsequently  is  heralded  in  the 
local  paper.  Every  ensuing  year  the  history  of  the 
monster  is  repeated,  and  a  pound  in  weight  or  a  foot  in 
length  is  added.  It  is  really  strange  that  many  a  large 
catfish  caught  by  our  grandfathei's  has  not  grown  to  a 
whale  by  this  time. 


83  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

Again  afloat,  I  took  a  long,  last  look,  and  while  the 
beauty  of  the  bloom  upon  its  shores,  and  the  crowded, 
branch-locked  towering  trees  above  were  being  scruti- 
nized, in  hopes  of  some  novelty  I  had  failed  to  see,  the 
cars  came  rumbling  over  the  high  bridge.  It  was  a 
strange  combination  of  the  natural  and  artificial,  which 
on  the  whole  was  far  from  pleasing,  yet  was  not  barren 
of  fruit  for  the  contemplative  rambler.  The  cars  dis- 
turbed a  number  of  swallows,  which  had  been  resting 
on  the  timbers  of  the  trestle,  and  until  now  had  made 
no  sound,  and  been  quite  unsuspected.  Certainly  for 
two  hours  a  hundred  swallows  of  two  species  had  been 
sitting  still,  neither  flying  at  short  intervals  nor  twitter- 
ing above  a  whisper.  I  have  seen  something  akin  to 
this,  later  in  the  month,  when  telegraph-wires  would 
be  lined  with  these  birds,  but  then  they  were  more  or 
less  restless  and  twittered  continually.  I  could  not  but 
think  how  unsafe  it  is  to  declare  such  and  such  a  creat- 
ure wanting  in  any  locality,  wdiere  it  rightfully  belongs, 
because  we  do  not  happen  to  see  it. 

The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close  as  I  left  AYatson's 
Crossing  fairly  behind  me  and  floated  leisurely  with  the 
tide  for  half  a  mile,  until  timber-land  was  again  reached. 
The  intervening  open  tract  is  all  a  pasture  meadow, 
well  in  grass,  but  not  to  the  exclusion  of  many  flowers. 
Purple  and  yellow,  of  course ;  it  is  almost  in  vain  to  look 
for  other  colors.  Here  Avhere  cows  were  grazing  grew 
rank  vervain,  with  its  tapering  purple  spires,  that  im- 
parted a  Tyrian  hue  over  all  the  landscape ;  and  it  was 
a  positive  relief  to  reach  a  drooping  willow — although 
an  exotic — a  broad -leaved  catalpa,  or  tropical  sumac. 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  83 

The  latter,  with  its  velvety  bloom  of  richest  red  seems 
always  out  of  place  among  our  plainer  trees.  Indeed, 
one  spot  where  stood  a  thrifty  sumac  in  full  bloom, 
witli  wild-rice,  cat's-tail  and  purple  cock's-comb  grass 
growing  immediately  about  it,  was  a  little  tropic,  that 
needed  but  a  few  humming-birds  to  make  complete. 
There  were  few  birds  of  any  kind  in  the  neighborhood, 
but  while  I  lingered  at  the  sumac  a  silent,  morose  cuckoo 
flew  from  the  opposite  sliore  and  clucked  in  his  peculiar 
way  when  once  hid  in  the  thickest  cluster  of  the  tree's 
foliao:e.  It  was  the  first  of  these  birds  that  I  had  seen 
for  many  days,  so  I  followed  his  movements  as  best  I 
could,  with  as  much  interest  as  though  a  novelty.  To 
me,  in  truth,  for  years  past,  it  has  been  a  most  enter- 
taining bird.  His  talents  certainly  do  not  lie  in  a  mu- 
sical direction ;  yet  the  broken,  gutteral  cluck  that  he  so 
frequently  utters  is  not  discordant ;  and  further,  it  does 
not  appear  to  have  been  noticed  by  ornithologists  that 
these  birds  neither  all  cluck  alike  nor  is  this  clucking 
their  only  utterance.  They  occasionally  give  a  more 
birdlike  cry,  something  like  the  first  syllable  of  a  wood- 
pee- wee's  song.  Like  all  young  birds,  the  brood  peep 
quite  shrilly  when  handled.  As  to  the  ordinary  clucking 
of  adult  birds,  it  accords  well  vritli  the  surroundings, 
and  when  accompanied  by  the  "z-ing"  of  the  harvest- 
fly,  completes  the  essential  features  of  an  August  after- 
noon. 

I  am  much  surprised  to  find  these  birds  recorded  as 
such  devoted  creatures,  both  to  their  mates  and  to  their 
young.  The  mother  bird,  it  is  true,  looks  well  after  her 
offspring,  but  as  childless  lovers,  earlier  in  the  summer, 


84  WASTE-LAND  WAXDERIXGS. 

they  are,  it  always  appeared  to  me,  exceedingly  prosaic. 
I  have  never  been  so  fortunate  as  to  witness  these  evi- 
dences of  conjugal  affection  so  graphically  described  by 
Alexander  Wilson.  They  seem  rather  to  live  on  the 
plan  of  every  one  for  himself,  and  consider  their  own 
comfort  to  the  entire  exclusion  of  that  even  of  their 
mates.  However  it  may  be  with  other  birds,  it  is  high- 
ly improbable  that  the  cuckoo  cares  a  jot  whether  he 
renews  his  acquaintance  w^th  his  last  year  s  wife  or  con- 
sorts with  a  stranger.  The  cuckoo  in  the  sumac  per- 
sisted in  remaining  characteristically  prosaic,  uttering 
no  sound  after  he  first  announced  his  presence,  and  not 
deio-nino-  to  ^o  throuo^h  those  beautiful  evolutions  among 

fc>  O  o  o  ^ 

the  branches  in  which  he  sometimes  indulges  when  m- 
sect  hunting.  I  have  occasionally  seen  a  cuckoo,  with 
apparently  closed  wings,  encircle  a  large  limb  of  a  tree 
without  touching  it;  as  though  in  some  mysterious 
manner  it  gave  the  necessary  impulse  to  its  body,  and 
determined  the  direction  by  the  curvature  of  the  tail. 
Their  flight  is  easy  and  deliberate  when  passing  from 
tree  to  tree,  giving  one  the  impression  of  a  lazy  bird ; 
but  often  when  in  a  tree  their  movements  are  the  cli- 
max of  graceful  locomotion. 

I  have  been  referring  to  the  commoner  yellow-billed 
species.  There  is  another,  the  black-billed,  wdiich  has 
essentially  the  same  habits.  Both,  I  have  ever  found, 
are  partial  to  the  proximity  of  running  water,  and  they 
often  remain  so  closely  to  the  overhanging  branches, 
that  while  often  heard,  they  will  seldom  be  seen,  unless 
one  is  afloat  and  observes  them  then.  The  cuckoo  in  the 
sumac  remained  quite  closely  to  the  water's  edge  for 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  85 

some  time,  and  then  by  sliort  fliglits,  from  Lush  to  bnsli 
and  tree  to  tree,  kept  a  creekward  course  until  out  of 
siglit.  Had  I  been  on  shore,  I  woukl  never  have  sus- 
pected that  a  cuckoo  Avas  near— unless,  indeed,  I  heard 

it  clucking. 

As  I  proceeded,  the  meadows  became  more  marshy 
and  shrubs  were  scattered  along  the  creek's  bank ;  but 
soon,  standing  alone,  was  found  a  thrifty  plum-tree,  and 
a  black  haw  so  near  by  that  their  branches  intertwined. 
The  fruit  of  the  wild  plum  was  about  half  ripe,  and 
either  pale  yellow  or  orange  and  red.  It  was  far  too 
beautiful  to  leave  behind,  and  I  gathered  all  that  was 
within  easy  reach.  With  this  fruit  I  felt  that  niy 
cargo  was  completed,  and  the  scanty  remnant  of  day- 
light remaining  demanded  a  hurried  passage  to  my  next 
anchorage  for  the  night,  and  this  was  yet  to  be  found, 
at  or  near  the  great  swamp  white-oaks  whose  towering 
tops  were  still  plainly  visible  against  the  dull  crimson 
of  the  sunset  sky. 

The  mysterious  impulse  that  bade  me  remain  after 
sundown  and  until  well  into  the  night,  was  not  brought 
to  bear  upon  me  this  evening.  A  suitable  place  to  hide 
my  boat  was  now  my  only  thought,  and  while  a  few^ 
last  rays  of  sunshine  glinted  through  the  tree -tops,  I 
found  the  desired  haven  in  a  cluster  of  button-bushes, 
near  the  big  oaks;  and  crushing  the  beautiful  white 
alisma's  bloom,  as  I  drew  the  boat  upon  the  shore,  was 
about  to  start,  with  my  many  treasures,  when  two  vines 
commanded  my  attention.  A  climbing  pea,  with  pur- 
ple bloom,  was  on  my  right,  and  a  clambering  mikania 
on  my  left.    I  gathered  a  long  piece  of  each,  that  neither 


86  WASTE-LAND   WAXDERIXGS. 

should  feel  slighted,  and  brushing  through  the  tall  club- 
rush,  rich  with  nutty -brown  bloom,  was  soon  fairly 
homeward  bound,  with  not  a  wish  for  further  novelty. 

Eut  it  was  not  to  be.     As  I  came  to  my  neighbor's 
pasture  meadow,  I  found  the  spot  anything  but  quiet, 
as  I  expected.     Hundreds  of  excited  birds  filled  the  air, 
which  but  a  glance  needed  to  identify  as  night-hawks. 
Graceful  and  erratic  as  swallows  in  their  flight,  they 
remained   remarkably    near    the    ground,  and    seemed 
scarcely  to  rise  above  the  level  of  my  head.     For  a  mo- 
ment I  stood  perfectly  still,  and  felt  the  wind  from  their 
wings  as  they  rushed  by ;  but  all  the  while  I  heard  no 
vocal  utterance.     Each  was  too  busy  with  the  myriads 
of  small  flies,  which  I  could  not  see,  but  felt  were  in 
the  air,  to  sing  or  even  twitter  to  a  passing  fellow.     My 
curiosity  was,  of  course,  roused  to  know  what  insects 
these  were,  that  kept  the  night-hawks  abroad  at  so  un- 
usual an  hour ;  and  resting  my  burden  at  the  foot  of  a 
large  elm,  I  prepared  to  investigate  the  matter.     This 
was  easily  done.     Striking  a  light,  I  found  that  from 
the  foot  of  the  elm  there  had  issued  and  was  issuino-  a 
brood  of  winged  ants,  which  the  night-hawks  discover- 
ing, had  chased  while  the  sunlight  lasted  and  continued 
in  pursuit  long  after  they  were  able  to  see  the  insects. 
This  was  not  surprising,  for  they  had  but  to  fly  with 
their  beaks  widely  opened  to  take  as  many  as  they  de- 
sired.    Usually,  the  night-hawk  flies  only  during  the 
subdued  light,  shortly  before   sunset  and  for   a  brief 
period  afterwards,  if  the  sky  is  clear ;  but  exceptions  to 
this  are  so  far  common,  that  it  is  a  question  if  they  can- 
not successfully  pursue  their  prey,  guided  by  some  other 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  87 

sense  than  tliat  of  sight.  Ornithologists  differ  as  to  this. 
Dr.  Brewer,  in  the  "  History  of  North  American  Birds," 
says:  "It  has,  strictly  speaking,  no  claim  to  its  common 
name,  as  indicating  it  to  be  a  bird  of  the  night,  whicli 
it  is  not.  It  is  crepnscnlar,  rather  than  nocturnal,  and 
even  this  habit  is  more  due  to  the  flight  of  the  insects 
upon  which  it  feeds  at  morning  and  at  evening  than  to 
any  organization  of  the  bird  rendering  it  necessary." 
This  is  probably  too  emphatic  an  assertion.  It  seems 
so,  certainly,  when  I  recall  my  own  observations  in  past 
years  ;  and  I  find  a  writer  in  the  "  American  Xaturalist," 
Yol.  YII.,  stating  it  to  be  "both  diurnal  and  nocturnal 
in  its  habits,  but  more  properly  the  latter."  This  more 
fully  accords  with  my  own  conclusions,  except  that  the 
term  "crepuscular"  is  preferable  to  nocturnal.  The 
writer  just  quoted  further  remarks,  "It  is  in  the  dusk 
of  the  evening  that  they  may  be  seen  in  the  greatest 
numbers ;  when,  in  certain  localities  and  at  certain  sea- 
sons of  the  year  (especially  in  the  fall),  thousands  may 
be  seen  darting  around  in  their  rapid  and  necessarily 
irregular  flight.  As  darkness  approaches,  they  descend 
to  the  earth  and  skim  along  the  surface,  snatching  up 
any  ill-fated  bug  that  may  have  failed  to  find  shelter." 

This  is  true  of  them,  as  I  have  noticed  for  years,  when 
they  gather  over  the  meadows.  At  times  they  fly  at  so 
great  an  elevation  that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  them 
from  the  ever-present  swallows ;  but  as  the  air  cools  and 
sunset  draws  near,  lower  and  lower  is  the  plane  of  their 
flight  until  they  barely  skim  the  tall  weeds  of  the 
marshes. 

The  comments,  during  haying  and  harvest,  of  some  of 


88  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

my  farmer-neighbors  upon  tliis  bird,  in  its  relation  to 
the  weather,  are  very  funny.  If  by  chance  niglit-hawks 
are  seen  early  in  the  afternoon,  the  farmer  will  smiling- 
ly rub  the  palms  of  his  hands  together  and  exclaim, 
"fine  weather,  fine  weather;"  but  if  too  busy  to  observe 
them  until  evening,  then  the  lower  flight  of  the  birds  is 
marked  with  a  troubled  countenance,  and  it  is  peevishly 
announced  that  it  will  soon  rain.  A  more  worthless 
barometer  than  a  night-hawk  it  is  difiicult  to  imagine ; 
yet  two  centuries  of  experience  with  them  has  not  les- 
sened the  faith  of  the  illogical  farmers. 

The  flying  ants  soon  proved  more  troublesome  than 
mosquitoes,  as  they  covered  my  hat  and  shoulders,  and 
commenced  crawling  over  me  in  a  most  annoying  man- 
ner. I  hurried  away,  and  recklessly  brushed  them  from 
me  with  my  bundle  of  botanical  specimens,  to  the  ruin- 
ation of  the  latter,  and,  I  was  glad  to  find,  destruction 
of  the  former.  Once  free,  I  walked  with  great  haste 
towards  home,  fearing  further  delays,  and  recalled  an 
exodus  of  winged  ants  I  had  observed  with  some  care 
years  ago. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  October  6,  1S72,  my  atten- 
tion was  called  to  a  great  multitude  of  large-sized  insects 
that  filled  the  air,  and  aj^peared  to  be  some  unusual  form 
of  insect  life,  judging  of  them  from  a  distance.  Closer 
inspection  showed  them  to  be  a  brood  of  red  ants  that 
had  just  emerged  from  their  underground  home  and 
w^ere  now  for  the  first  time  usino;  their  delicate  winirs. 
The  sky  at  the  time  was  wholly  overcast;  the  wind 
strong  south-east ;  thermometer  (j(j°  Fahr.    Taking  a  fa- 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  89 

Yorable  position,  I  noticed,  as  tliey  slowly  crawled  from 
the  ground  up  tlie  blades  of  grass  and  stems  of  clover 
and  small  w^eeds,  that  they  seemed  dazed,  without  any 
method  in  their  movements,  save  an  ill-defined  impres- 
sion that  they  must  go  somewhere.  Again,  nearly  every 
one  was  pushed  forward  by  those  coming  after  it,  which 
seemed  to  add  to  its  confusion.  Every  action  plainly 
indicated  that  they  were  wholly  ill  at  ease. 

Once  at  the  tip  of  a  blade  of  grass,  they  seemed  more 
than  ever  puzzled  as  to  what  to  do.  If  not  followed  by 
a  fellow-ant,  they  would  invariably  crawl  down  again 
to  the  earth,  and  sometimes  repeat  this  movement  until 
a  new-comer  followed  in  the  ascent,  when  the  bewilder- 
ed individual  would  be  forced  to  use  his  wings.  This 
flight  w^ould  be  inaugurated  by  a  very  rapid  buzzing  of 
the  wings,  as  though  to  dry  them,  or  prove  their  owner's 
power  over  them.  After  a  second's  rest  the  violent 
movement  of  the  wings  would  recommence,  and  finally 
losing  fear,  as  it  w^ere,  the  ant  would  let  go  its  hold  upon 
the  blade  of  grass  and  rise  slowly  upward.  It  could,  in 
fact,  scarcely  be  called  flight.  The  steady  vibration  of 
the  wings  simply  bore  them  upward,  ten,  twenty,  or 
thirty  feet,  until  they  were  caught  by  a  breeze,  or  by 
the  steadier  wind  that  was  moving  at  an  elevation  equal 
to  the  height  of  the  surrounding  pine  and  spruce  trees. 
So  far  as  I  was  able  to  discover,  their  wings  were  of  the 
same  use  to  them  in  transporting  them  from  their  former 
home  that  the  "wings"  of  many  seeds  are  in  scattering 
them,  both  being  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds. 

Mr.  Bates,  in  describing  the  habits  of  the  Saiiba  ants, 
says :  "The  successful  debut  of  the  winged  males  and  fe- 


90  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

males  dejDends  likewise  nj)on  the  workers.  It  is  amus- 
ing to  see  the  activity  and  excitement  which  reign  in 
an  ant's  nest  when  the  exodus  of  the  winged  individuals 
is  taking  place.  The  workers  clear  the  roads  of  exit, 
and  show  the  most  lively  interest  in  their  departure,  al- 
though it  is  highly  improbable  that  any  of  them  will 
return  to  the  same  colony.  The  swarming  or  exodus  of 
the  winged  males  and  females  of  the  Saiiba  ant  takes 
place  in  January  and  February,  that  is,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  rainy  season.  They  come  out  in  the  evening 
in  vast  numbers,  causing  quite  a  commotion  in  the  streets 
and  lanes."  This  quotation  from  our  author's  fascinat- 
ing "  ]^aturalist  on  the  Amazons  "  is  of  especial  interest, 
because  of  the  great  similarity  and  dissimilarity  in  the 
movements  of  the  two  species  at  this  period  of  their  ex- 
istence. Remembering,  at  the  time,  the  above  remarks 
concerning  the  South  American  sj)ecies,  I  looked  care- 
fully for  the  workers  in  this  instance,  and  failed  to  dis- 
cover more  than  a  dozen  wingless  ants  above-ground, 
and  these  were  plodding  about,  very  indifferent,  as  it  ap- 
peared to  me,  to  the  fate  or  welfare  of  their  winged 
brethren.  On  digging  down  a  few  inches,  I  could  iind 
but  comparatively  few  individuals  in  the  nest,  and  could 
detect  no  movements  on  their  parts  that  referred  to  the 
exodus  of  winged  individuals  then  going  on. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  time  of  day  agrees  with  the 
remarks  of  Mr.  Bates.  When  I  first  noticed  them, 
about  4  P.M.,  they  had  j)robably  just  commenced  their 
flight.  It  continued  until  nearly  7  o'clock  p.m.,  or  for  a 
considerable  time  after  sunset.  The  next  morning  there 
was  not  an  individual,  winged  or  wingless,  to  be  seen 


WATSON'S  CROSSING.  91 

above-ground  ;  the  nest  itself  was  comparatively  empty; 
and  what  few  occupants  there  were  seemed  to  be  in  a 
semi-torpid  condition. 

It  was  not  possible  for  me  to  calculate  what  propor- 
tion of  the  winged  ants  Avere  carried  by  the  wind  too 
far  to  return  to  tlieir  old  home ;  but  certainly  a  large 
proportion  were  caught  by  the  surrounding  trees ;  and 
I  found,  on  search,  some  of  these  ants  crawling  down 
the  trunks  of  trees,  with  their  wings  in  a  damaged  con- 
dition. How  near  the  trees  must  be  for  the  ants  to 
reach  their  old  home  I  should  like  to  determine,  and 
further,  what  tells  them  which  road  to  take.  Dr.  Dun- 
can, in  his  volume  on  the  "  Transformations  of  Insects," 
states, ''  It  was  formerly  supposed  that  the  females  which 
alidited  at  a  crreat  distance  from  their  old  nests  returned 
again ;  but  Iluber,  having  great  doubts  npon  this  sub- 
ject, found  that  some  of  them,  after  having  left  the 
males,  fell  on  to  the  ground  in  out-of-the-way  places, 
whence  they  could  not  possibly  return  to  the  original 
nest."  In  the  instance  I  have  described,  it  seems  im- 
possible that  more  than  a  very  small  percentage  conld 
have  returned,  and  indeed,  if  they  did  so,  it  was  forty- 
eight  hours  after  their  departure,  for  during  two  days 
I  continued  to  revisit  the  old  nest. 

Speaking  of  the  little  yellow  ants,  abundant  in  paths 
and  about  houses,  Dr.  Packard,  in  his  "  Guide  to  the 
Study  of  Insects,"  remarks :  "  The  females,  after  their 
marriage  flight  in  the  air,  may  then  be  seen  entering  the 
ground  to  lay  their  eggs  for  new  colonies,  or,  as  West- 
wood  states,  they  are  often  seized  by  the  workers  and 
retained  in  the  old  colonics."   This  latter  occurrence  was 


92  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

not  tlie  fate  of  any  considerable  number  of  the  ants  I 
observed.  Dr.  Packard  further  says  that  these  flying 
ants,  "having  no  more  use  for  their  wings,  i3luck  them 
off,  and  may  be  seen  running  about  wingless." 

Had  I  sj^ent  an  idle  day,  the  injunction  "Go  to  the 
ant,  thou  sluggard,  consider  her  ways  and  be  wise," 
might  have  been  applicable;  but  soon  after  reaching 
my  lioDie  I  found  the  tables  turned ;  the  ants  were  con- 
sidering my  ways,  were  exploring  every  pocket,  and 
prospecting  even  deeper,  perhaps  hopeful  of  establish- 
in  o-  a  new  formicary.  It  is  needless  to  add,  that  I  en- 
tered  an  effective  protest. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
SWA:»IP  WIIITE-OAK  BEXD. 

An  angry  Carolina  wren  is  a  capital  alarm-clock. 
This  morning  the  bird  was  astir  before  dawn,  and  roused 
me  promptly  at  4.30. 

Once  ont-of-doors,  I  tarried  longer  in  the  yard  than 
I  intended,  as  tlie  antics  of  the  bird  piqued  my  curios- 
itj^     Strange  to  say,  the  creature  was  more  excited  than 
usual,  and  noisier  than  ever  before.     Probably  a  prowl- 
ing rat  had  come  too  near,  and  yet  I  saw  no  evidence 
of  damage  to  the  nest.     Tlie  five  young  birds  were  tak- 
ing an  enviably  comfortable  nap.     Still,  the  parent— I 
saw  but  one— was  far  from  satisfied.     Mounting  a  little 
weather-vane,  it  rattled  its  peculiar  pr-r-r-r ;  then  dashing 
into  the  elm,  it  screamed  jim-mee;  then  from  the  roof 
of  the  icediouse  called  zic-rei-ka,  and  so  on,  until  its  vo- 
cabulary was  exhausted.     I  lost  fully  an  hour  following 
the  bird  from  point  to  point,  hoping  to  learn  the  cause 

of  its  trouble. 

I  never  knew  this  wren  to  mingle  its  many  so-called 
songs.  The  one  that  it  utters  at  the  outset  is  sure  to 
be  repeated  so  long  as  the  bird  remains  on  a  particular 
perch.  When  it  changes  its  position,  even  if  it  be  but 
for  a  few  yards,  its  new  song  will  be  of  a  wholly  differ- 
ent character.  For  years  I  have  been  trying  to  deter- 
mine if  these  notes,  which  are  so  extraordinarily  varied, 


94  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

bore  any  reference  to  the  circumstances  of  tlieir  utter- 
ance. In  this  I  have  failed.  They  are  apparently 
meaningless,  and  uttered  at  random ;  mere  series  of  ex- 
clamations, as  it  were,  and  not  always  loudest  or  most 
elaborate  when  the  excitement  is  intense. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  at  times,  when  all  is  serene, 
many  of  these  same  wild  cries  are  sweetly  sung,  and 
would  not  be  recognized  if  the  bird  were  out  of  sight. 
And,  too,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  same  wren 
is  greatly  given  to  low  chirpings  and  twitterings  when 
two  or  more  are  in  company. 

I  know  of  no  species  that  more  fully  bears  me  out  in 
the  distinctions  I  long  ago  drew  between  the  singing 
proper  of  birds  and  what  may  reasonably  be  called  their 
conversation. 

As  late  as  August  29th  I  found  a  nest  of  this  bird 
in  a  novel  position,  in  a  miniature  cave  on  the  hill-side. 
The  whole  interior  was  beautifully  lined  with  inter- 
woven grass  and  twigs.  The  nest  was  perfectly  dry, 
and  safe  from  flooding  during  ordinary  summer  show- 
ers. This  was  a  discovery  in  local  ornithology,  for  I 
find  no  record  of  a  like  occurrence.  I  thought  at  the 
time  that  jDossibly  some  unusual  circumstance  led  to  the 
spot  being  chosen,  and  that  I  would  never  find  another 
such  nest ;  but  it  really  is  a  habit  of  the  species  to  build 
in  such  localities. 

To-day,  on  the  same  hill-side,  down  which  I  was  hur- 
rying, I  found  another  of  these  "  cave  dwellings."  It 
was,  I  am  positive,  an  artificial  excavation,  and  the  same 
care  had  been  exercised  to  make  the  v/alls  secure.  Tiie 
entrance  was  covered  with  rough  twigs  and  bits  of  lich- 


SWAMP  WIIITE-OAK  BEND.  95 

en,  and  proved  simj^lj  j^crfcct  as  a  "blind.  The  coinci- 
dence of  tlie  bird's  leaving  the  nest,  just  as  I  passed  in 
front  of  it,  alone  led  to  mj  discovering  it.  I  doubt  if, 
an  hour  later,  I  could  readily  have  found  it  again. 

The  occu^^ant  of  this  earth  -  retreat,  like  mj  erratic 
friend  in  the  yard,  was  far  from  pleased  at  my  inquisi- 
tiveness,  and  when  I  was  far  over  the  dew -drenched 
meadows,  I  could  still  hear  its  shrill  scolding,  though  the 
sound  was  softened  almost  to  a  song,  throngh  the  kindly 
office  of  the  fog-thick  air. 

As  I  listened,  I  recalled  another  and  unfortunate  wren 
of  my  acquaintance.  In  a  hollow  oak  that  stood  alone 
on  the  edge  of  a  marshy  meadow,  a  Carolina  wren  made 
his  home  during  the  past  winter  and  devoted  his  time 
to  singing  and  spider  hunting,  when  not  obliged  to  de- 
fend his  castle  from  besieging  blue-jays,  prying  owls,  or 
prowling  mammals.  I  made  his  acquaintance  early  in 
December,  and  many  were  the  curious  adventures  of  the 
bird  that  I  chanced  to  witness.  These  culminated  at 
the  close  of  the  winter. 

During  a  blustering  snow-storm,  an  opossum  wandered 
to  the  tree  and  climbed  to  the  very  roosting-place  of  my 
wren.  The  tracks  in  the  snow  showed  that  he  had  en- 
tered but  a  short  time  before  I  happened  on  the  spot. 
I  am  not  positive,  and  can  never  determine  the  truth, 
but  it  is  my  firm  conviction  that  the  wren,  which  ap- 
peared to  know  me  well  and  was  quite  tame,  intended 
to  relate  his  troubles.  Fluttering  near  my  head,  he 
chirped,  twittered,  and  scolded  in  an  excited  yet  earnest 
manner. 

I  surmised  the  difficulty,  but  was  not  so  well  satisfied 


96  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

that  assistance  could  be  rendered.  My  hesitation  was 
evidently  painful  to  the  imjDatient  wren.  He  swooped 
down  and  snapped  his  beak,  and  chirped  close  to  my 
face,  and  looking  at  me  with  eyes  that  glistened  with 
intelligence  ;  then  impatience  controlling  him,  he  would 
again  dart  at  me  and  command,  as  though  fearful  that 
coaxing  would  not  prove  effective. 

From  me  the  wren  constantly  flew  to  the  tree,  and, 
resting  a  moment  at  the  entrance  to  its  hollow,  chirped 
so  energetically  that  he  fairly  lifted  himself  from  his 
feet.  Then  back  to  me  he  would  come,  never  alighting 
upon  me,  but  hovering  just  above  my  head,  and  always 
sufficiently  in  front  for  me  to  see  him. 

Every  movement  of  this  distressed  bird  was  eloquence 
itself,  and  impressed  me  with  the  fact  of  the  great  intel- 
ligence of  birds,  beyond  any  other  occurrence  in  my  ex- 
perience. 

I  finally  endeavored  to  dislodge  the  opossum  by  smok- 
ing it  out,  a  process  that  very  naturally  increased  the 
excitement  of  the  wren.  In  due  time  I  was  successful, 
and  was  gratified  to  see  the  creature  appear  at  the  upper 
entrance  to  the  hollow  of  the  old  oak.  It  stared  about 
with  characteristic  stupidity,  quite  indifferent  to  my 
presence,  and  to  that  of  the  exultant  wren,  which  darted 
at  its  face  as  fiercely  as  any  hornet. 

I  soon  brought  the  opossum  to  the  ground,  and  the 
wren  was  again  in  possession,  singing  exultantly  as  I 
withdrew,  perhaps  intending  to  thank  me  for  my  serv- 
ices. But,  alas!  my  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  bird  were 
far  less  successful  than  I  supposed.  The  little  fire  that 
I  had  placed  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  was  fanned  by  a 


SWAMP  WHITE-OAK  BEND.  97 

passing  breeze  to  a  lively  flame,  and  my  efforts  to  dis- 
lodge it  proved  unavailing.  The  wren's  home,  so  long 
a  landmark,  soon  disappeared,  and  with  it  the  hermit  of 
the  hollow  oak. 

Again  standing  upon  the  creek's  bank,  I  was  glad  to 
push  my  little  boat  from  its  moorings,  and  once  more 
float  with  the  tide,  or  leisurely  pull  against  it,  as  the  case 
might  be.  This  morning  I  could  have  dropped  anchor 
in  mid-stream,  so  attractive  was  every  feature  of  my  sur- 
roundings ;  and  what  music  is  sweeter  than  the  lapping 
of  waves  under  the  boat's  bow  ?  I  divided  my  attention 
between  this  and  the  far-off  whistling  of  a  curdinal-red- 
bird,  the  flrst  I  had  heard  for  several  weeks.  It  sang 
but  its  own  song  now,  though  I  have  recently  learned 
that  this  beautiful  songster  may,  after  all,  be  called  a 
"mocking-bird."  Early  one  morning,  not  long  ago,  I 
heard  one  distinctly  and  exactly  repeat  the  trisyllabic 
cry  of  the  whippoorwill,  and  then  conclude  the  utter- 
ance, each  time,  with  its  own  well-known  whistling. 
To  most  people  it  would  have  appeared  that  a  wdiip- 
poorwill  and  cardinal  were  singing  at  nearly  the  same 
time,  the  latter  commencing  before  the  other  had  fln- 
ished.  The  question  arises,  why  should  this  one  cardi- 
nal imitate  another  bird,  when  others  quite  near  by  did 
not  do  so  ?  My  investigation  of  this  rather  forbidding 
problem  proved  successful.  The  rcdbird's  home  was 
in  a  vine-clad  birch,  and  directly  beneath  lay  a  mossy, 
prostrate  log,  whereon  a  whippoorwill  sat,  both  day  and 
night,  and  during  the  latter  season,  of  course,  serenaded 
the  cardinal  with  a  monotonous  repetition  of  the  com- 


5 


98  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

mand  to  castio^ate  unfortunate  William.  I  do  not  won- 
der  that  the  redbird  learned  to  repeat  the  notes  of  his 
down-stairs  neighbor  when  they  rung  in  his  ears  night- 
ly for  several  weeks. 

I  have  intimated  that  the  other  cardinals  about  here 
were  not  given  to  mocking  their  neighbors.  Do  I  know 
this?  May  not  many  a  short  song  of  some  unseen  bird 
have  been  the  utterance  of  a  cardinal  ?  The  acutest  ear 
could  not  have  detected  the  difference  had  the  bird 
ceased  singing  with  the  syllable  "  will ;"  but  this  it  did 
not  do,  and  I  made  the  discovery  partly  from  this  fact, 
and  that  the  whippoorwill  does  not  sing  hours  after 
sunrise. 

It  is  never  wise  to  be  positive  in  the  matter  of  birds. 
I  have  insisted  that  the  cardinal-redbird  is  not  a  mock- 
er.    I  take  it  all  back. 

Perhaps  the  creek  was  never  at  a  lower  stage  than 
now.  Above  tide-water  the  river  is  but  a  valley  of  wet 
rocks,  and  here,  where  the  tide  cree23S  meadowward  twice 
daily,  is  the  stream,  as  usual,  but  so  shrunken  that  many 
a  low-lying  meadow-tract  offers  a  firm  footing  to  the 
rambler.  In  numerous  little  sink-holes,  from  which  the 
water  has  evaporated  or  soaked  away,  I  find  the  skele- 
tons of  small  fishes,  neatly  wrapped  in  the  scale-armor 
of  their  shrunken  skins.  They  are  curious  objects,  and 
no  length  of  soaking  restores  their  former  graceful  out- 
lines. As  I  pick  them  from  the  mud,  the  imprint  of 
their  shrivelled  forms  is  left — fossil  impressions  for  the 
naturalists  of  ten  thousand  years  to  come.  This  is  possi- 
ble, of  course,  so  I  wrote  on  the  smooth  surface  from 


SWAMP  WHITE-OAK  BEND.  90 

wliicli  I  lifted  a  minnow,  Fundulus  midtifasciatus. 
Will  it  not  startle  the  paleontologist  of  the  indefinite 
future  to  chisel  from  a  rock  an  already  labelled  fossil? 
I  trust  that  he  will  not  go  mad. 

I  was  soon  within  the  shadows  of  the  great  swamp 
white-oaks.  Here  the  creek  curves  gently  to  the  north, 
and  upon  its  left  bank  grows  a  number  of  these  mag- 
nificent trees.  Like  all  the  oaks,  they  are  beautiful  at 
all  times,  even  when  bared  of  every  leaf.  Like  all  large 
trees,  they  attract  birds  of  many  kinds ;  but,  strangely 
enough,  they  were  apparently  deserted  as  I  rowed  be- 
neath their  overhanging  branches. 

It  makes  a  vast  difference  in  our  impressions  of  a  lo- 
cality, whether  it  is  silent  or  noisy,  as  we  draw  near.  If 
the  former,  we  are  apt  to  consider  it  abandoned,  and 
jumping  at  the  conclusion  that 

"something  ails  it  now, 
The  spot  is  curst," 

we  hurry  by.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  song  of  a  bird, 
the  splash  of  a  turtle,  or  warning  bark  of  a  squirrel  is 
heard,  we  are  assured  that  it  is  a  pleasant  place,  and  pre- 
pare to  tarry. 

To-day  it  was  none  of  these,  but  the  wake  of  a 
musk-rat  as  it  crossed  the  creek,  or  nearly  crossed  ;  when, 
as  though  it  Iiad  forgotten  something,  it  returned  to  the 
point  from  which  it  started.  This  may  seem  too  trivial 
an  incident  to  record,  and  indeed,  a  single  trip  would 
have  been  ;  but  why  did  the  musk-rat  return  so  prompt- 
ly ?     This  was  what  piqued  my  curiosity,  and  caused  me 


100  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

to  check  my  progress  down  stream.  Had  I  seen  the  an- 
imal take  something  over  the  creek  or  bring  something 
back,  all  would  have  been  plain  enough,  but  this  was  not 
the  case.  That  swim  of  fifty  yards  each  way  was  ap- 
parently without  an  object,  and  so  was  a  proper  subject 
for  a  naturalist's  consideration.  I  felt  convinced  that 
there  was  something  behind  the  scenes.  Why  should 
not  the  musk-rat's  brain  be  as  active  as  its  body  ?  The 
creature  doubtless  had  plans  and  purposes  of  its  own ; 
and  it  was  my  desire,  if  not  my  business,  to  determine 
w^hat  they  were. 

When  the  musk-rat  returned  to  the  north  shore  it 
looked  after  me,  as  I  very  slowly  witlidrew,  and  wdien 
the  distance  between  ns  was  doubled,  rose  upon  its  hind- 
legs  and  uttered  a  shrill  squeak;  then  it  plunged  into 
the  water.  I  saw  that  it  was  again  crossing  the  creek, 
and  quickly  urged  my  boat  forward.  Instantly  the 
musk-rat  dived,  and  I  saw  nothing  more  of  it,  until  de- 
tected in  creeping  very  slowly  from  the  creek  and  then 
skulking  behind  the  clustered  stems  of  crowded  I^uphar. 
I  held  my  boat  back  and  waited.  The  musk-rat  sat 
watching  me.  Tired  at  last  I  slowly  withdrew,  and 
wdien  I  could  no  longer  see  the  cunning  creature,  it  evi- 
dently became  satisfied  that  all  danger  was  past,  and 
again  commenced  swimming  to  the  opposite  shore,  and 
this  time  not  alone.  A  series  of  wakes  told  the  story, 
the  brood  of  the  cunning  musk-rat  followed  their  par- 
ent. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  this  m.ammal  is  every- 
where abundant.  It  has  always  been  subject  to  constant 
persecution  ;  and  considering  the  numbers  trapped  dur- 


SWAMP  WIIITE-OAK  BEND.  101 

ing  tlie  winter  months,  it  speaks  volumes  for  their  cun- 
ning that  they  have  escaped  extermination.  But  wlieth- 
er  abundant  or  rare,  one  need  not  expect  to  see  them 
frequently  during  the  day.  They  are  essentially  noc- 
turnal, or  rather  crepuscular,  and  glory  in  still  moon- 
lit nights,  when  often  a  dozen  can  be  seen  at  one  time. 

At  intervals  this  creature  looms  up  in  zoological  liter- 
ature in  a  curious  ^y'dj.  That  musk-rats  are  fond  of 
mussels,  every  boy  upon  a  farm  well  knows ;  but  it  is 
the  disposition  of  some,  who  profess  to  have  dived  a  lit- 
tle more  deeply  into  this  remarkable  matter,  to  invest 
this  whim  of  the  animal  with  a  deal  of  mystery.  The 
latest  screed  upon  this  subject  is  the  most  utterly  absurd 
of  all ;  and  alas !  is  trumpeted  forth  by  a  school-master. 

It  was  bad  enough  to  have  impossible  gymnastics  as- 
cribed to  the  musk-rat ;  to  assert  that  it  deftly  forced 
its  toe-nails  between  the  slightly  open  valves,  without 
irritating  the  sensitive  "  foot "  so  that  it  would  be  with- 
drawn, and  that  with  its  fore-legs  thus  encumbered  the 
musk-rat  sought  the  shore — vainly  sought  it  I  imagine. 
All  this  vagary  from  a  hopeful  (?)  pupil ;  and  now 
comes  the  further  elucidation  of  the  problem  from  the 
teacher.  lie  has  been  wandering  along  the  river  shore, 
ay,  and  picked  up  mussels.  Better  yet,  he  has  sur- 
prised them  with  their  "feet"  out  and  puiched  them 
until  the  whole  body  was  paralyzed.  Here  is  the  real 
secret  of  the  musk-rat,  then  ;  they  have  learned  the  ped- 
agogic squeeze ! 

To  go  back  a  step.  These  lovers  of  mystery  assume, 
at  the  outset,  that  the  shells  of  mussels  are  seldom  or 
never  injured  by  the  musk-rat.     This,  of  itself,  is  not 


102  WASTE-LAND   WANDERIXGS. 

true.  Thoreau,  in  ''  Early  Spring,"  remarks  :  "  I  find 
.  .  .  several  Lave  one  valve  quite  broken  in  two  in  the 
rat's  effort  to  wrench  them  open.  .  .  .  All  the  rest 
shoic  the  'marks  of  their  teeth  at  one  end  or  the  other. 
You  can  see  distinctly  also  the  marks  of  their  teeth 
where,  with  a  scraping  cut,  they  have  scraped  off  the 
tough  muscle  which  fastens  the  fish  to  its  shell ;  also, 
sometimes  all  along  the  nacre  next  the  edge." 

Again  in  "Science,"  Ko.  107,  Mr.  Beecher  says:  "I 
have  often  seen  the  posterior  margins  of  the  valves 
slightly  notched,  and  the  ej^idermis  scratched,  from  the 
efforts  of  the  musk-rat  to  open  the  shell."  This  author 
does  not  believe  that  the  hinge  of  the  shell  is  success- 
fully attacked  by  the  musk-rat,  but  adds,  "  this  ])ortion 
is  sometimes  injured P 

So  much  concerning  the  "  never  mutilated  "  shells. 

The  pedagogue  declares  that  he  can  squeeze  mussels 
until  they  are  paralyzed.  It  is  a  gift  confined  to  few, 
to  say  the  least ;  and  he  argues  that  his  accomplish- 
ments are  not  beyond  the  capabilities  of  a  musk-rat. 

Of  course  the  latter,  having  no  opposable  thumb, 
must  use  both  fore-feet,  in  lieu  of  the  powerful  hand 
of  a  pedagogue,  and  squeeze  until  the  mussel  cries 
"  enough."  As  soon  as  the  valves  are  opened  enougli 
to  give  this  agonized  utterance,  pop !  in  goes  the  paw 
of  the  rat  and  the  coveted  morsel  is  secure. 

But  in  our  southern  and  western  waters  the  shells  of 
these  mollusks  are  vastly  thicker  than  are  those  of  the 
Delaware  Biver  species,  and  the  musk-rat  eats  of  them 
as  freely  as  of  those  that  are  thin-shelled.  This  matters 
not.     It  is  the  magic  of  the  squeeze  and  not  brute  force 


SWAMP  WniTE-OAK  BEXD.  103 

that  accomplishes  the  desired  object.  Even  when  the 
shell  is  not  only  thick,  but  ribbed  and  prickly  with 
testaceous  spines^  it  is  the  same ;  let  the  creature  but 
feel  the  thrill  of  a  pedagogic  squeeze  and  it  is  doomed. 
Ay !  but  when  did  the  musk-rat  learn  the  secret  and 
secure  the  transference  of  the  magic  that  lurks  in  the 
hand  of  a  school-master  ? 

Affain  afloat,  but  not  much  more  than  floatiuo;.  While 
I  had  tarried :-to  watch  the  musk-rat,  the  outgoing  tide 
had  not  tarried  w^ith  me,  and  now  had  nearly  run  its 
long  appointed  course.  The  trees  cast  so  inviting  a 
shade  that  I  concluded  to  land  again,  and  having  passed 
the  last  of  the  group  of  swamp  white-oaks,  beached  my 
boat  upon  the  muddy  shore,  where  towering  forest-trees 
w^ere  thickly  clustered.  They  grew  so  closely  to  the 
w^ater's  edge,  that  only  at  low  tide  was  there  any  space 
between  their  trunks  and  the  creek.  Birch,  linden,  but- 
ton-wood, maple,  and  willow  were  about  equally  repre- 
sented in  numbers,  but  varying  as  much  in  size  as  in  the 
patterns  of  their  leaves.  With  the  miscellaneous  un- 
dergrowth, the  locality  possessed  plant  life  of  every 
shade  of  green ;  and  this  it  is  that  prevents  the  painful 
monotony  characteristic  of  some  forest  tracts.  It  is 
scarcely  less  objectionable  to  be  in  a  forest  exclusively 
of  pine  or  oak  than  in  a  gaudy  flower-garden.  The 
sameness  of  the  one  wearies  as  readily  as  the  other  pains 
by  its  excess  of  color.  In  the  association  of  widely  dif- 
ferent species  of  trees  there  is  a  grateful  variety  with- 
out painful  contrast. 

"What  few  birds  I  saw  seemed  partial  to  certain  trees. 


104  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

]N^ot  a  redstart  was  seen  excej^t  on  the  willows,  and  the 
titmice  and  creepers  singled  ont  the  scattered  button- 
woods.  This  was  not  for  the  moment  only,  but  held 
good  for  the  while  I  tarried  in  the  shade  of  these 
growths.  As  they  were  all  evidently  busy  insect-hunt- 
ing, each  found  food,  I  suj^pose,  peculiarly  attractive  to 
itself,  in  the  trees  they  frequented. 

I  was  somewhat  sur];)rised  at  the  variety  and  volume 
of  bird-music  to  be  heard.  The  red-eyed  vireo's  throat 
and  wings  were  well-matched,  and  to  decide  wherein 
was  the  greater  activity  would  have  been  a  difficult 
matter.  If  the  bird  flew  unusually  fast,  its  notes  were 
always  proportionately  louder  and  more  rapidly  uttered. 
The  song  is  not  melodious ;  yet  when  heard  afar  off, 
with  the  bird  hidden  among  the  upper  branches  of  the 
trees,  it  is  a  pleasant  sound,  to  say  the  least,  and  one  sure 
to  lead  us  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  woods ;  for  the 
desire  to  see  the  birds  that  w^e  chance  to  hear  is  w- ell- 
nigh  irresistible. 

To-day  there  Avere  hosts  of  summer  warblers,  active 
as  the  trembling  leaves,  in  their  search  for  insects,  but 
save  an  occasional  faint  chirp,  all  were  silent.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Maryland  yellows-throats  and  crested  tits 
were  singing  constantly.  It  is  strange  that  so  much  dif- 
ference should  obtain,  in  this  respect,  among  our  song 
birds.  l^Tow  that  nesting  is  over,  many  find  next  to 
nothing  to  sing  about.  Can  it  be  that  their  existence  is 
less  joyful  for  the  ten  months  of  freedom  than  during 
the  two  of  their  married  life?  Possibly  we  may  get 
from  them  a  clew  as  to  which  birds  are  mated  for  life, 
and  which  for  a  season.    Is  the  fact  that  some  birds  sinir 


SWAMP  WHITE-OAK  BEXD.  105 

at  all  times  of  the  year  an  indication  of  tlicir  life-long 
happiness  ?  As  I  write,  I  hear  the  song-sparrows,  the 
swamp-finches,  and  a  cat-bird,  all  in  full  song ;  the  latter, 
perhaps,  singing  more  briefly  than  in  June.  I  know 
that  there  is  much  evidence  to  be  brought  forward  that 
both  the  song- sparrow  and  cat -bird  are  permanently 
mated. 

A  sudden,  violent  asfitation  of  the  surface  of  the  wa- 
ter  caused  me  quickly  to  cease  thinking  of  birds,  and 
recrard  the  strano:e  commotion  in  the  creek.  It  was  evi- 
dently  not  due  to  a  passing  breeze,  and  peering  into  the 
depths — very  shallow  just  then — I  saw  countless  hun- 
dreds of  young  shad.  It  was  a  little  late  for  these  fish. 
Usually  they  reach  tide-water,  coming  from  the  npper 
portions  of  the  river,  by  August  1st ;  but  herein  Nature's 
methods  have  been  somewhat  disturbed  of  late,  and 
many  thousands  of  artificially  hatched  shad  are  now  set 
at  liberty  at  such  times  as  the  Fish  Commission  see  fit. 
These,  perhaps,  have  just  arrived  from  some  hatchery, 
and  are  later  than  their  wild  brethren.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
when  once  full-grown  no  difference  is  detected,  and  no 
questions  need  be  asked,  when  the  baked  shad  comes  to 
the  table.  Still,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  interest 
centrino;  in  these  fish  is  much  lessened  since  their  arti- 
ficial  propagation.  It  places  them  among  fishes  where 
chickens  are  among  birds — very  useful,  but  not  sugges- 
tive of  untamed  nature. 

The  thousands  of  young  shad  that  crowded  about  my 

boat  were  not  only  very  tame  but  very  stupid ;  at  least 

gave  every  evidence  of  being  quite  at  the  mercy  of  the 

tides.     I  carefully  lifted  several  from  the  water,  and  al- 

5* 


106  WASTE-LAXD  WAXDERIXGS. 

tliougli  every  precaution  was  taken,  not  to  injure  tliera, 
they  quickly  succumbed.  The  mere  act  of  lifting  them 
from  the  water  and  immediately  returning  them  proved 
a  shock,  and  twenty  seconds  exposure  to  the  atmos- 
phere was  fatal. 

The  kingfishers  for  many  a  mile  seemed  to  know  of 
this  school  of  fish,  and  they  followed  it  as  closely  as 
gulls  do  the  moss-bunkers  along  our  sea-coast.  Again 
and  again  these  voracious  birds  would  dart  into  the 
midst  of  the  young  shad,  and  swallowed  them  usually 
without  preliminary  butchering. 

I  foUovv^ed  these  fish  a  short  distance,  when,  as  though 
the  tide  had  turned,  they  very  suddenly  reversed  their 
positions  and  moved  slowly  towards  the  river.  Consid- 
ering their  helplessness,  it  is  a  marvel  that  any  of  their 
number  should  ever  reach  the  ocean.  I^ot  simply  for 
the  reason  that  the  kingfishers  followed  them  so  closely, 
but  because  they  were  also  attended  by  numbers  of  pike, 
perch,  water  -  snakes,  and  had  even  to  run  the  gantlet 
of  scores  of  hungry  turtles.  This  in  the  creek  where  I 
saw  them.  What  their  experiences  in  the  river  were  to 
be  can  be  imagined. 

]^evertlieless,  centuries  ago,  the  cunning  Indian  fish- 
ermen, at  this  very  bend  of  the  creek,  captured  thou- 
sands of  shad  by  methods  of  their  own  —  perhaps  be- 
neath the  larger  of  the  oaks  still  standing  here. 

Loskiel  records,  "  There  is  a  particular  manner  of  fish- 
ing which  is  undertaken  in  parties,  as  many  hands  are 
wanted,  in  the  following  manner :  when  the  shad -fish 
{Alosa  clujyea)  come  up  the  rivers,  the  Indians  run  a  dam 
of  stones  across  the  stream,  where  its  depth  will  admit 


SWAMP  WIIITE-OAK  BEXD.  107 

of  it,  not  ill  a  straight  line,  but  in  two  parts,  verging  tow- 
ards each  otlier  in  an  angle.  An  opening  is  left  in  the 
middle  for  the  water  to  run  off.  At  this  opening  they 
place  a  large  box,  the  bottom  of  which  is  full  of  holes. 
Then  they  make  a  rope  of  the  twigs  of  the  wild  vine, 
reaching  across  the  stream,  upon  which  boughs  of  about 
six  feet  in  length  are  fastened  at  the  distance  of  about 
two  fathoms  from  each  other.  A  party  is  detached  about 
a  mile  above  the  dam  with  this  rope  and  its  appendages, 
who  begin  to  move  gently  down  the  current,  some  guid- 
ing one,  some  the  opposite  end,  while  others  keep  the 
branches  from  sinking  by  supporting  the  rope  in  the 
middle  with  wooden  forks.  Thus  they  proceed,  fright- 
ening the  fishes  into  the  opening  left  in  the  middle  of 
the  dam,  where  a  number  of  Indians  are  placed  on  each 
side,  who,  standing  upon  the  two  legs  of  the  angles,  drive 
the  fishes  with  poles  and  a  hideous  noise,  through  the 
opening  into  the  above-mentioned  box  or  chest.  Here 
they  lie,  the  water  running  off  through  the  holes  in  the 
bottom,  and  other  Indians,  stationed  on  each  side  of  the 
chest,  take  them  out,  kill  them,  and  fill  their  canoes.  By 
this  contrivance  they  sometimes  catch  above  a  thousand 
shad  and  other  fish  in  half  a  day." 

It  was  at  this  bend  of  the  creek  that  the  Indians  had 
one  of  their  fish-dams,  and  a  century  afterwards  traces 
of  it  were  plainly  to  be  seen  at  low  tide.  The  few 
Indians  that  lingered  about  the  settlements  of  the  whites 
still  used  it,  and  fished  at  times  in  company  with  their 
pale-faced  neiglibors.  It  is  due  to  this  fact  that  refer- 
ences to  such  fishing  sites  and  methods  of  capturing 
shad  have  been  recorded  in  several  old  commonplace 


108  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

books,  some  of  which  I  have  seen.  The  Lest  of  these 
is  in  a  letter  of  Mahlon  Stacy,  who  wrote  "  From  the 
Falls  of  Delaware,  in  West  ^New  Jersey,  the  26th  of  the 
4th  month,  16S0."  lie  says  :  "  Fish,  in  their  season,  are 
very  plenteous.  My  cousin  Eevell  and  I,  with  some  of 
my  men,  went  last  third  month  into  the  river  to  catch 
herrings ;  for  at  that  time  they  come  in  great  shoals 
into  the  shallows.  AYe  had  neither  rod  nor  net,  but, 
after  the  Indian  fashion,  made  a  round  pinfold,  about 
two  yards  over  and  a  foot  high,  but  left  a  gap  for  the 
fish  to  go  in  at ;  and  made  a  bush  to  lay  in  the  gap  to 
keep  the  fish  in  ;  and  when  that  was  done,  we  took  two 
long  birches  and  tied  their  tops  together,  and  went 
about  a  stone's  cast  above  our  said  pinfold :  then  haul- 
in  o-  these  birch  bouo;hs  down  the  stream,  where  w^e 
drove  thousands  before  us,  but  so  many  got  into  our 
trap  as  it  would  hold.  And  then  we  began  to  haul 
them  on  shore  as  fast  as  three  or  four  of  us  could,  by 
two  or  three  at  a  time ;  and  after  this  manner,  in  half 
an  hour,  we  could  have  filled  a  three-bushel  sack  of  as 
good  and  large  herrings  as  ever  I  saw.  .  .  .  And  though 
I  speak  of  herrings  only,  lest  any  should  think  we  have 
little  other  sorts,  we  have  great  plenty  of  most  sorts  of 
fish  that  ever  I  saw  in  England,  besides  several  other 
sorts  that  are  not  known  there — as  rocks,  catfish,  shads^ 
sheep's-heads,  sturgeons." 

As  my  boat  rested  upon  the  steadily  widening  cush- 
ion of  nntracked  mud,  I  looked  carefully  for  any  signs 
of  life  peculiar  to  such  an  environment.  There  seemed 
to  be  nothing  except  minute  forms  that  would  need  a 


SWAMP   WniTE-OAK  BEND.  109 

microscope  to  identify.  But  if  ^vanting  in  readily  vis- 
ible animal  life,  it  was  full  of  sound.  The  steady  drain- 
ino-  off  of  the  water  caused  a  constant  sibilant  snapping 
as  the  surface  cracked  and  bubbled. 

With  not  a  spider  even  darting  over  the  mud,  and  no 
subterranean  creature  peeping  above  it,  it  would  have 
been  monotonous  waiting  for  the  tide  to  turn,  had  not 
a  cat-bird  kindly  entertained  me  the  while.     He  seemed 
strangely  out  of  place.     AVhy  he  should  have  left  the 
briers  on  the  hill-side  and  wandered  thither  is  hard  to 
imagine,  for  the  relative  abundance  of  food  in  the  two 
localities  cannot  vary  materially.     At  all  events,  here 
he  was,  and  with  the  agility  of  a  marsh-wren  clung  to 
the  stems  of  pickerel-weed  and  wild-rice,  and  then  vent- 
uring upon   the   drier   edge  of   the   mud  flat,  hopped 
with  that  teetering  of  the  tail  that  is  a  feature  of  sand- 
pipers and  water-thrushes.     Do  all  birds  that  come  here 
from  the  uplands  walk  in  such  a  manner,  as  though 
they  caught  the  trick  from  the  incessant  seesaw  of  the 
rippling  waters?     I  was  perfectly  quiet,  and  presently 
tlie  cat-bird  flew  to  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  sitting 
there  chirped  vigorously  as  he  watched  me,  lying  full 
length  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.     That  chirp  was  a 
call  to  his  mate,  I  took  it,  and  presently  she  came— at 
least  another  cat-bird  came— and  she  too  eyed  me  for  a 
moment  intently.     I  could  not  be  more  sure   of  her 
meaning  had  I  perfect  knowledge  of  a  cat-bird's  language. 
She  toid  her  mate  that  I  might  prove  dangerous,  and 
advised  his  quickly  retreating.     He  was  not  so  easily 
persuaded,  and  even  dared  hop  a  few  paces  nearer,  she 
scoldins:  vis-orously  all  the  while.     I  remained  motion- 


110  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

less.  He  came  a  little  nearer  and  twittered  "  See  here, 
see  here !"  She  was  by  no  means  convinced,  and  re- 
mained at  a  safe  distance.  Her  mate,  growing  still 
braver,  flew  almost  to  my  feet  and  perched  upon  the 
stern  of  the  boat.  Then  I  waved  my  arms  vigorously 
above  my  head  and  the  poor  bird  flew  shrieking  with 
terror  to  the  woods,  followed  by  his  more  cautious  mate. 
A  half -hour  afterwards  she  Avas  still  scolding,  and  I 
doubt  not  gloried  over  his  mishap.  When  the  months 
roll  by,  and  a  new  nest  is  to  be  built,  if  any  dispute 
arises,  she  will  be  twittering^  "  Remember  the  man  in 

i  CD 

tlie  boat."  Like  all  of  her  sex,  whether  in  feathers 
or  smooth  skin,  they  never  omit  an  opportunity  to  tease, 
or  forget  the  few  times  in  their  lives  when  they  really 
have  the  best  of  an  argument. 

The  creek  here,  as  in  many  portions  of  its  channel, 
has  greatly  altered  since  Indian  times.  It  w^as  then 
much  deeper,  somewhat  narrower,  and  its  waters  clearer. 
This  better  condition,  in  fact,  continued  until  the  begin- 
ning of  this  century,  when  the  general  deforesting  of 
the  hill-side  was  commenced,  and  in  the  past  eighty-five 
years  the  rains  have  gullied  the  bluff  in  many  places, 
and  carried  to  the  creek's  channel  countless  tons  of  sand 
and  gravel,  wdiich  the  current  has  never  been  powerful 
enough  to  remove;  and  often  for  hundreds  of  rods 
there  is  a  broad  and  shallow  flow,  where  formerly  it  was 
deep  and  narrow. 

These  great  changes,  deplorable  as  they  may  be,  have 
not  robbed  the  creek  of  all  its  beauty.  After  the  cat- 
birds had  departed,  and  I  had  sought  in  vain  for  some 
substantial  traces  of  the  old  Indian  fishinc^-dam,  I  worked 


SWAMP  WIIITE-OAK  BEXD.  Ill 

the  boat  back  to  the  water,  and  i^roceeded  a  few  rods 
down  the  stream,  wlien  I  came  to  a  stretch  of  weedy,  open 
meadow,  airlow  with  brilliant  color.     Ilere 

The  golden  dodder's  tangled  net, 
'With  waxen  blossoms  thickly  set, 
Enwraps  the  vervain's  pnrple  spire; 
O'erspreads  the  rose  with  thread-like  fire; 
And  like  a  gilded  serpent  twines 
The  mazy  host  of  tangled  vines. 

One  large  thicket  of  impenetrable  growths  was  a  ckister 
of  blackberry  canes  ;  and  here,  too,  was  a  grand  display  of 
color.  The  canes  were  nearly  leafless,  but  still  covered 
with  a  generous  yield  of  fruit.  This  was  but  half  ripe 
and  bright  crimson,  with  here  and  there  at  pleasing  in- 
tervals a  twio^  with  coal-black  berries. 

When  absence  of  contrast  has  long  prevailed,  how 
heartily  is  the  crimson  and  black,  the  purple  and  gold, 
the  cardinal -flower  among  sedges,  greeted.  For  weeks 
the  upland  fields  have  been  glowing  with  rich  yellow, 
in  itself  a  pleasing  color,  but  how  tiresome  to  live  amid 
acres  of  blooming  partridge-pea,  to  the  exclusion  of  even 
an  occasional  blade  of  c^rass. 

This  pretty  meadow — weedy,  my  farmer  neighbors 
call  it — is  bounded  by  a  few  large  trees ;  and  as  I  ap- 
proached them  I  heard  a  gentle  tapping  high  overhead, 
which  I  attributed  to  a  woodpecker.  While  seated  in 
the  boat,  I  looked  into  every  tree  as  best  I  could,  but 
caught  no  glimpse  of  the  bird.  I  looked  skyward  until 
my  neck  ached,  but  in  vain.  Then,  very  naturally,  I 
"got  mad."  The  tapping  was  remarkably  constant,  yet 
the  bird  was  playing  bopecp  very  successfully.     It  must 


113  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

never  happen  that  a  naturalist  gives  np  the  chase.  Be- 
lieving the  bird  was  doing  its  best  to  avoid  me,  I  deter- 
mined to  out-wit  it.  I  turned  tlie  boat's  bow  inshore, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  stepping  out,  when  there  was 
the  busy  woodpecker  almost  at  mj  feet.  But  it  was 
not  a  bird.  A  curiously  bent  twig  was  caught  and  re- 
leased by  each  j^assing  ripple,  and  by  its  motion  made 
the  tapping  sound.  I  assumed  at  the  outset  that  the 
noise  was  made  bv  a  bird,  and  so  looked  for  it  amono: 
the  branches  of  the  tall  trees.  How  unsafe  it  is  to  be 
positive ;  yet  had  I  gone  away  without  seeing  a  wood- 
pecker, or  learning  the  cause  of  the  tapping,  I  could 
never  have  been  convinced  that  the  bird  was  not  where 
I  supposed  it  to  be. 

Here,  months  earlier,  however,  I  did  see  a  beautiful 
red-bellied  woodpecker  that  came  near  out-witting  me. 
It  was  in  a  hollow  tree,  instead  of  upon  it,  and  judghig 
from  the  length  of  time  it  remained  concealed,  must 
have  found  the  cavernous  hollow  an  excellent  feeding 
ground. 

This  rare  woodj^ecker  has  been  slighted  by  ornitholo- 
gists, or  is  a  most  prosaic,  unentertaining  bird.  Wilson 
states  that  it  is  not  partial  to  fences,  but  loves  tall  trees. 
Audubon  says  that  it  j^refers  the  forest  to  open  country. 
These  facts  will  apply  to  nearly  all  of  the  family. 

Unlike  many  birds,  this  woodpecker  shows  no  dispo- 
sition to  suit  itself  to  circumstances,  and  just  as  steadily 
as  our  laro^e  trees  are  felled  do  thev  decrease  in  numbers. 
In  this  they  resemble  the  red-headed  woodpecker.  I 
have  never  found  their  nests ;  but  once,  in  midwinter, 
discovered  a  pair  industriously  pecking  a  hole  in  a  chest- 


SWAMP  WHITE-OAK  BEXD.  113 

niU  oak.  Like  their  cousins,  the  flickers,  these  also 
probably  make  more  holes  for  nests  in  one  year  than 
they  can  occupy  in  a  dozen.  In  this  they  prove  a  bless- 
ing to  others,  as  the  bluebirds  and  great  crested  fly- 
catchers use  them,  unless  ousted,  as  is  too  apt  to  be  the 
case,  by  the  gray  squirrels. 

I  am  free  to  confess  that  woodpeckers,  as  a  family  of 
birds,  have  failed  to  interest  me.  There  is  little  if  any 
mystery  about  them,  and  several  species  being  resident, 
they  are  every-day  features  of  an  out-door  ramble.  You 
may  see  one  or  many  in  June  or  January,  and  they  are 
always  the  same :  agile  climbers  over  the  upright  branch- 
es of  trees,  picking,  pecking,  hammering  as  they  go.  Xo 
birds  so  seldom  induce  me  to  pause,  when  passing  through 
the  woods ;  yet  once  I  had  a  pleasant  surprise,  due  to 
the  cunning  of  a  pair  of  woodpeckers.  During  a  violent 
snow- squall  I  took  shelter  behind  an  old  walnut-tree, 
nearly  four  feet  in  diameter;  and  while  standing  there, 
partly  shielded  from  the  storm,  a  pair  of  beautiful  red- 
headed woodpeckers  suddenly  appeared  immediately 
above  my  head,  having,  like  me,  taken  refuge  from  the 
cutting  north  wind  and  driving  snow.  The  moment 
they  were  at  rest  they  saw  me,  and  with  a  shrill  chirp 
again  took  wing,  but  as  suddenly  reconsidered  the  mat- 
ter, and  eying  me  very  closely,  concluded  to  risk  what- 
ever danger  there  might  be  in  my  presence,  rather  than 
face  such  a  snow-storm.  I  could  only  assure  them  by 
remaining  perfectly  quiet,  and  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
I  stood  like  a  statue,  and  they  sat  near  by,  in  a  pain- 
fully alert  attitude,  ready  to  face  the  storm  if  I  moved. 
As  rapidly  as  the  snowing  commenced  it  stopped,  and 


114  WASTE-LAND   WANDERIXGS. 

I  moved  my  arms  slightly  when  the  sunlight  broke 
through  the  clouds.  Instantly  the  birds  were  on  the 
wing  and  out  of  sight. 

To  a  student  of  animal  psychology  this  is  no  trivial 
incident.  There  was  a  deliberate  exercise  of  choice  ;  a 
consultation  between  the  birds,  and  a  decision  reached 
and  acted  upon ;  and  all  transpiring  in  less  than  one 
minute.  If  not  an  exercise  of  true  reasoning  powers, 
what  shall  we  call  it  ?  Certainly  no  mythical  "  instinct " 
can  be  called  up  to  explain  such  facts. 

The  last  bird  that  I  saw  to-day,  and  the  least,  was 
probably  the  hapjDiest ;  for  it  evidently  combined  pleas- 
ure with  business.  I  watched  for  a  full  hour  a  dainty 
little  flycatcher,  that  when  not  busy  was  singing.  Che- 
pink — Che-piiik !  it  warbled  with  a  pretty  toss  of  the 
head,  and  then  deftly  sailed  out  for  an  insect.  ISTot  al- 
ways out,  but  rather  down ;  for  it  often  dived  into  a 
thicket  twenty  feet  below,  and  the  sharp  snap  of  its 
beak  told  the  story  of  an  insect's  capture.  Then  with 
an  easy,  upward  flight  it  regained  its  perch,  and  whis- 
tled these  two  syllables,  peculiarly  its  own,  Che -pink 
—  Che-piiik !  It  was  Traill's  flycatcher ;  a  bird  that 
comes  and  goes  with  the  migratory  hosts  that  summer 
farther  north ;  but  it  likewise  stays  every  summer  and 
haunts  the  tree-clad  reaches  of  the  Crosswicks  valley. 

It  is  a  common  practice  among  those  who  delight 
in  studying  our  song  birds,  as  they  find  them  in  their 
chosen  haunts,  to  class  a  very  large  number  as  "  minor 
songsters,"  giving  them  credit  for  good  intentions  rather 
than  meritorious  performance.  I  confess  to  an  entire 
want  of  sym|)athy  with  those  who  draw  such  distinc- 


SWAMP   WHITE-OAK  BEND.  115 

tions,  and  rejoice  in  being  able  to  derive  as  miicli  pleas- 
ure from  a  simple  ditty  as  from  the  most  varied,  elo- 
quent, and  artistic  effort.  The  surroundings  make  the 
sonir.  Is  not  the  wild  scream  of  the  hawk,  as  it  hovers 
on  the  edge  of  a  storm-cloud,  answering  the  rattling 
thunder  with  its  defiant  cry,  akin  to  music  ?  The  whis- 
tle of  the  cardinal,  in  crystal-clear  midwinter  days ;  the 
hopeful  ^varble  of  the  bluebird,  as  it  hints  of  spring ; 
the  cheery  call  of  the  crested  tit ;  the  faint  lisping  of 
restless  cedar-birds  ;  simple  sounds  that  we  hear  at  in- 
tervals, months  after  the  grosbeak,  the  orioles,  and  the 
warblers  have  departed  ;  are  they  not  as  delightful  to 
the  ear,  as  soothing  and  suggestive  as  any  summer  song 
of  nesting  thrushes  ? 

It  is  the  homely  "  air"  that  we  habitually  hum,  when 
in  a  meditative  mood,  that  is  dearest  to  our  hearts ; 
some  simple  song,  first  heard  in  infancy,  it  may  be,  that 
we  never  forget,  and  always  prize  far  beyond  the  intri- 
cate maze  of  scientific  opera.  So  the  unpretending  ef- 
forts of  the  song-sparrow,  the  grass-finch,  and  all  the  host 
of  "  minor  songsters,"  afford,  I  believe,  at  least  as  much 
pleasure  as  the  wonderful  performances  of  the  masters 
of  melody. 

A  glorious  sunset  closed  the  day.  The  feathery 
clouds  that  for  hours  had  been  floating  westward 
crowded  the  sun's  path,  as  though  they  would  dispute 
his  progress.  Kow  he  tui-ns  upon  them,  and  breaking 
a  passage  through  their  deep -closed  ranks,  reillumines 
the  darkened  reaches  of  the  creek,  while  the  blushing 
clouds  retire. 


CHAPTER  V. 
DEAD  WILLOW  BEND. 

In  an  August  day  there  is  nothing  particularly  an- 
gust,  even  if  it  ends  in  a  gust.  This  may  prove  more 
inconvenient  than  grand,  as  when  my  house  was  struck 
by  lightning.  One  good  thing,  however,  may  be  said  of 
the  month ;  its  sultriness  does  not  reach  the  shady  re- 
cesses along  the  creek ;  and  as  all  the  indications  were 
those  of  a  tropical  day  upon  the  uplands,  I  made  haste, 
as  usual,  on  this  my  fifth  outing,  to  be  again  afloat. 

Not  a  creature  crossed  my  path  as  I  hurried  along,  fol- 
lowing wherever  the  grass  had  been  well  cropped  by  the 
cows ;  for  every  twig  and  leaf  was  di'ipping  with  dew. 

My  neighbors  speak  of  dew  as  something  very  differ- 
ent from  water,  saying  that  it  will  saturate  one's  cloth- 
ing far  more  quickly.  I  am  half  dis230sed  to  believe 
it.  I  have  never  found  a  leatlier  shoe  that  was  proof 
against  it. 

How  little  is  required  to  raise  the  commonplace  to  the 
dignity  of  grandeur !  Every  object,  however  homely, 
was  at  sunrise  to-day  made  as  beautiful  as  it  was  promi- 
nent by  the  magic  of  this  daintily-defining  dew.  Every 
blade  of  grass  bore  aloft  its  brilliant  crystal ;  every  leaf 
sparkled  with  its  clustered  gems ;  every  airy  highway 
of  Arachne  was  a  wondrous  structure,  b:iilt  of  stolen 
moonbeams. 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEND.  117 

Two  tracts  of  meadow  that  I  passed  over  this  morn- 
ing, liad  it  not  been  for  tlie  dew,  would  have  proved 
strangely  monotonous,  considering  what  a  wealth  of 
bloom  overspread  them  but  a  few  weeks  ago.  In  that 
one  nearest  my  home  Flora  was  certainly  prodigal  with 
her  favors,  even  so  early  as  ApriL  Along  each  hedge 
the  dog-wood  fluttered  its  snowy  raggedness ;  and  be- 
neath, violets,  blue,  purple,  ashen,  and  white,  bloomed  in 
profusion.  Spring  beauty,  wherever  the  ground  was 
dry,  shyly  peeped  through  the  relics  of  departed  years. 
Wind-flowers,  though  trembling  in  every  breeze,  showed 
a  bolder  front,  and  vied  with  adder's  -  tongue  and  bell- 
wort  in  courting  recognition.  With  azure  snow  the 
distant  knolls  were  dusted,  and  I  knew  that  the  wee 
Iloustonia  w\as  again  in  bloom. 

Later,  when  standing  in  the  midst  of  them,  I  could 
not  but  recall  the  curse  of  familiarity.  How  true  it  is 
that  many  of  the  most  beautiful  objects  in  nature  are 
the  most  abundant,  and  yet  they  are  systematically  over- 
looked and  neglected.  The  bluets  prove  this.  Why 
one  should  exclaim  over  a  rare  flower  of  no  special  merit, 
and  yet  be  indifferent  to  the  azalea,  kalmia,  or  iris,  is  in- 
comprehensible to  me.  If  a  plant  has  no  j^articular  at- 
traction, it  is  proper  that  it  should  seldom  loom  up  in 
one's  pathway ;  and  I  am  thankful,  for  one,  that  so  many 
of  the  choicest  wdld-flowers  are  so  extraordinarily  abun- 
dant. Think  of  the  bluets  !  They  grow  so  closely  six- 
teen are  found  to  the  square  inch,  or  more  than  twenty 
thousand  to  the  square  yard — more  than  a  million  to  the 
acre !  I  have  stood  in  the  midst  of  many  acres  of  them. 
Must  they  be  snubbed  because  of  their  abundance  ? 


118  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

The  banks  of  the  little  brook  that  skirted  both  these 
meadow  tracts  and  the  stream  itself  were  no  less  brill- 
iant witli  spring  -  tide  blossoms.  From  the  shallower 
waters  tliere  arose  a  leafy  growth  of  spear-like  equise- 
tum,  and  the  spotted  frogs  crouching  at  their  roots 
seemed  less  a  terror-stricken  host  than  an  alert  army 
bearing  its  weapons  aloft,  ready  to  battle  with  the  hov- 
ering, hungry-eyed  herons.  Hard  by  the  beautiful  oron- 
tium  was  clustered,  but  not  a  frog  was  near  to  wield 
their  golden  clubs. 

Flora  w^as  clearly  averse  to  have  any  nook  or  corner 
slighted,  and  the  very  mud  of  the  creek's  bank  was  hid- 
den, even  to  the  water's  edge,  with  a  marigold  that  had 
no  rival  among  the  yellow  blossoms  of  its  day. 

Golden  ragwort,  worthy  of  a  better  name,  a  month 
later  overtopped  all  other  bloom,  and  its  fiery  blossoms 
set  these  meadows  in  a  blaze. 

And  yet  later  the  very  grass  was  hidden  by  golden 
Cynthia,  that  paled  the  more  ambitious  evening  prim- 
rose growing  with  it ;  nor  yet  content  with  her  prodi- 
gality, had  scattered  blue  iris  by  every  pool,  and  clus- 
tered its  yellow  sisters  at  the  creek. 

Almost  the  first  bird  I  saw  this  morning,  as  I  floated 
out  into  the  stream,  was  one  of  those  melanistic  house- 
wrens  which  frequent  the  darkest  and  most  inaccessible 
nooks  of  our  woods.  In  years  gone  by,  I  knew  it  as  the 
*' wood -wren,"  and  it  was  as  well  defined  a  species  in 
plumage,  habits,  and  peculiarities  as  any  of  the  wren 
family.  We  are  told  now  that  the  wood- wren,  of  which 
Audubon  wrote  so  pleasantly,  w^as  nothing  but  a  house- 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEND.  119 

wren  soiled  with  cliarcoal  dust!  All  tlie  professionals 
agree  to  this ;  and  yet  I  cannot  but  think  it  a  little 
strange  that  every  house-wren  that  wanders  to  the  re- 
mote woods,  and  lives  a  life  strikingly  different  from  its 
kind  that  tenant  the  boxes  in  our  door-yards,  should 
show  decided  melanism.  Do  abnormally  dark  feathers 
cause  them  to  retire  to  the  quiet  retreats  of  gloomy 
woods  ?  It  would  appear  so,  yet  this  of  course  is  utterly 
absurd.  Whether  house-wren  or  wood-wren,  it  matters 
not ;  but  liere,  delighting  to  clamber  over  prostrate  and 
mossy  tree-trunks ;  to  thread  its  way  among  the  tangled 
stems  of  dwarfed  kalmias,  and  to  skim  along  the  water's 
surface,  picking  up  "  skaters  "  as  it  goes,  these  wrens  in 
nothing  recall  their  noisy  brothers,  that  sing  and  scold, 
the  livelong  day,  about  our  houses.  Nor  are  they  noisy 
and  fretful,  like  the  typical  '•^cedonP  Like  all  active 
birds,  they  chirp  frequently,  and  often  pausing  in  their 
insect-hunting,  sing  the  song  of  the  wren  at  home  ;  the 
same  notes,  but  yet  more  tuneful ;  freer  of  the  harsh, 
rasping  rattle  that  too  often  converts  the  song  to  mere 
noise. 

These  wild  wrens,  too,  nest  in  a  different  manner. 
Choosing  a  hollow  in  some  decayed  tree,  they  place  the 
nest  quite  out  of  reach,  often  six  or  eight  feet  from  the 
opening  that  leads  to  it,  or  build  on  the  ground  among 
the  roots  of  a  large  tree,  where  they  are  exposed  to  the 
attacks  of  small  mammals. 

That  Audubon's  wood -wren  was  a  charcoal  -  dusted 
house -wren  is,  of  course,  not  impossible;  but  that  a 
darker -plumaged  variety  or  race  of  the  Troglodytes 
cedon  has  taken  itself  to  the  woods,  is  not  unlikely  to 


120  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

be  true.  Like  all  birds  tliat  continually  haunt  tlie 
banks  of  streams,  this  wren  had  the  trick  of  jerking  its 
tail  quite  like  the  spotted  sand-piper  or  golden-crowned 
thrush.  Is  it  necessary  in  consequence  of  the  yielding 
of  the  soft  mud  over  which  it  hopped  ?  I  went  ashore 
to  see  if  so  small  a  bird  left  any  tracks,  and  found  that 
they  were  quite  deep ;  as  w^ell  defined  as  sparrow  tracks 
made  on  new-fallen  snow.  Eeturning  to  the  boat,  I  saw 
the  wren  again  a  few  rods  farther  down  the  stream,  and 
I  wished  for  those  of  my  friends  who  believe  in  the 
power  of  snakes  to  charm  birds.  On  a  mat  of  dead 
grass,  close  to  the  water's  edge,  was  coiled  a  huge  water- 
snake,  and  the  wren  was  evidently,  by  a  torrent  of  abuse 
and  vehement  scolding,  endeavoring  to  drive  the  creat- 
ure away.  It  flew  at  it,  and  snapped  its  beak  so  sharply 
that  I  could  plainly  hear  it ;  but  the  snake  was  quite  in- 
different to  the  turmoil  about,  and  only  left  its  bed  as 
I  came  opposite  to  it.  But  the  wren  claimed  all  the 
credit,  and  sang  exultantly  as  I  passed  by. 

Passing  rank  growths  of  aquatic  weeds  which  to-day 
seemed  quite  deserted,  I  reached  that  charming  portion 
of  the  creek.  Dead  Willow  Bend.  Perhaps  of  all  our 
forest  -  trees  a  dead  w^illow  is  the  least  expressive ;  far 
less  so,  surely,  than  the  decaying  oak  or  elm  that  for 
centuries  has  been  a  landmark,  once  to  the  Indian  and 
since  to  ourselves ;  but  such  dead  Avillows  are  neverthe- 
less suggestive.  Their  short  and  bulky  trunks  are  pret- 
ty sure  to  be  hollow,  and  the  rambler  naturally  looks  for 
animals  lurking  in  their  roomy  interiors.  Perhaps  it  is 
for  this  very  reason  that  our  mammals  generally  are 
careful  not  to  occupy  them.    I  give  the  coon,  skunk,  and 


DEAD   WILLOW   BEXD.  121 

mink  credit  for  too  much  common-sense.  They  seem 
to  know,  quite  as  Tvell  as  I  do,  that  the  average  hollow 
willow  is  a  target  for  every  idle  loafer  that  passes  b}', 
and  its  crumbling  trunk  becomes  as  well  known  as  the 
dusty  highway.  Sometimes  it  happens  that  clustering 
shrubbery  about  such  trees  hides  every  vestige  of  the 
trunk,  and  then  a  safer  hiding-place  is  afforded  by  it. 
This  is  true  of  our  great  dead  willow  here — the  tree  has 
a  history. 

A  year  ago  I  happened  here,  and  found  on  the  creek- 
bank,  near  by,  a  fragment  of  a  man  tied  up  in  rags.  It 
was  not,  as  one  might  suppose,  a  ghastly  sight,  and  I  felt 
no  need  to  report  the  remains  to  the  coroner.  I  slow- 
ly approached  the  spot,  making  almost  no  noise,  but  the 
crackling  of  twigs  was  sufficient  to  reach  the  ears  of 
this  fragmentary  man.  He  roused  in  an  instant,  and  in 
all  his  incompleteness  stood  before  me. 

Eubbing  his  eyes,  he  drawled  out,  "  I  believe  I've 
been  asleep,"  and  then  looking  up  at  the  sun,  added, 
"  Hang  me  if  'tain't  to-morrer." 

''  It  is  to-day,  and  early  in  the  morning,"  I  replied. 

"  The  last  I  knowed,  it  was  moonlio^ht,  and  I  becrim  to 
get  tired,  and  laid  down  my  fishin'-tackle,  but  I  didn't 
know  I'd  been  asleep.  You  look  sort  o'  puzzled,"  this 
dilapidated  fisherman  continued,  "as  tho'  you  didn't  ex- 
pect to  find  any  one  here,  let  alone  me.  Well,  you  see, 
I  do  make  out  to  get  round,  if  there  is  a  lot  o'  me 
gone ;"  and  the  fellow  glanced  at  the  stump  of  his  right 
arm  and  then  at  his  wooden  leg,  with  the  one  eye  that 
remained  to  him.  "  You're  a  stranger  about  here,  I  take 
it,"  was  my  reply  to  his  remarks  concerning  himself. 
G 


123  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

The  fact  is,  I  was  too  mucli  surprised  to  see  so  apparent- 
ly helpless  a  man  so  far  from  any  house  or  even  public 
highway. 

"  Stranger  about  here  ?"  he  repeated  ;  "  not  exactly, 
for  I  was  here  some  five  years  ago,  and  had  a  bit  of  a 
lark  in  that  dead  wilier  yonder.  You  see,  I  don't  foller 
the  land,  but  the  water,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  neat  cedar 
boat,  with  one  oar  resting  at  the  stern.  ''  That's  my 
home  eight  months  of  the  year,  and  I  can  go  from  the 
falls  to  the  sea-shore  when  o'  mind  to." 

"  But  what  about  this  dead  willow  ?"  I  asked. 

"  It  come  round  this  way.  'Long  late  in  October  I 
drifted  in  here,  gettin'  stuff  for  a  drug  store,  fishin'  and 
the  like,  when  up  there  come  the  biggest  sort  of  a  rain,  all 
of  a  sudden.  I'd  no  notion  of  gettin'  wet,  so  I  looked 
round,  and  seein'  the  wilier  was  big  and  hollow — it  wa'n't 
kivered  with  weeds  then — thought  I'd  creep  in  and  wait 
for  the  rain  to  stop.  'Twan't  no  easy  job  fur  me,  but  I 
made  it  out  and  sort  o'  chuckled  to  myself  as  I  heerd 
the  rain  a  pitter-patter  agin'  the  tree,  and  felt  the  wind 
shakin'  it  clean  to  the  roots.  But  'tisn't  a  red  apple 
that's  always  the  sweetest,  you  know.  The  rain  sort  o' 
gathered  overhead  and  poured  a  stream  down  my  back. 
That  riled  a  swarm  o'  black  ants,  and  they  took  refuge 
in  my  coat  and  tickled  worse  than  a  flea's  bite.  Then 
the  blowin'  came  on  in  airnest.  One  puff  opened  a  big 
crack  in  the  wilier  and  my  wooden  leg  slipped  through, 
and  was  held  like  a  rat  in  a  steel  trap.  There  I  was, 
and  gettin'  desprit,  I  tell  you,  when  luck  turned  a  little, 
and  a  puff  o'  wind  opened  the  crack  agin  and  let  me 
go.     I  got  out,  spite  o'  the  dark,  and  left  fur  hum." 


DEAD  WILLOW  EEND.  123 

I  drew  a  long  breath,  and  stared  at  the  garrulous  crip- 
ple in  silence. 

"Don't  you  b'lieve  it'^'  he  asked,  with  some  irrita- 
tion in  his  voice ;  "if  you  don't,  we'll  stay  strangers  one 
to  t'other,  that's  all ;"  and  he  hobbled  to  his  boat. 

I  watched  him  embark,  and  as  he  sculled  down  the 
creek  I  wondered  who  he  was.  To  this  day  he  remains 
a  stranger,  both  to  me  and  to  my  neighbors. 

The  willow  is  a  test  tree  with  those  who  anxiously 
await  the  coming  of  spring,  and  by  its  leaf -buds  one 
is  apt  to  swear  when  aiming  to  be  weatherwise.  They 
were  held  by  the  early  Swedes  who  settled  here  to  be 
governed  by  the  sun's  movement  more  than  by  the 
actual  conditions  of  the  Aveather.  By  mere  chance,  it 
occurred  to  me  to  test  it  as  the  winter  of  '85  drew  to  a 
close. 

My  almanac,  under  date  of  March  20tli,  states,  "  10 
A.M.  spring  commences."  Opens  her  engagement  for 
the  season,  I  presume  is  meant,  and  so  to  be  present  at 
the  rising  of  the  curtain  I  hurried  to  the  meadows.  I 
have  read  upon  play-bills,  "  Curtain  rises  promj^tly  at 
7.45  P.M. ;"  but  it  happened  otherwise.  10  a.m.  came 
and  went,  and  not  an  intimation  was  there  of  the  grand 
acts  about  to  be  performed.  The  torn  and  tattered 
hangings  of  the  late  tragedy,  winter,  was  all  that  I  found. 
But  I  am  not  given  to  despair,  and  the  next  day,  and 
the  next,  and  all  that  week,  I  walked  over  the  crisp 
meadows  to  a  distant  hedire  of  willows.  Thouo-h  still 
the  curtain  did  not  rise,  it  was  not  in  vain  that  I  went. 
The  orchestra  did  all  they  could  to  kee-p  peace  with  the 
audience,  and   they  succeeded.     Why,  then,  complain 


124  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

that  I  found  no  green  thing  save  where,  nestling  at  the 
wrinkled  feet  of  gnarly  oaks,  the  tnf ted  mats  of  emerald 
moss,  keeping  a  brilliant  summer  to  themselves,  shone 
fitfully  through  the  whirling  clouds  of  wind -tossed 
leaves  ?  The  shores  of  the  little  brook  were  lifeless  as 
I  approached  them.  The  long,  gaunt  limbs  of  the  horn- 
beams, stretching  aimlessly  into  chilly  sj)ace,  were  the 
only  objects  that  the  shuddering  waters  reflected,  and 
typified  a  comfortless  March  day.  Comfortless  ?  How 
rashly  do  we  use  the  Queen's  English,  if  there  be  not 
perfection  in  our  surroundings.  Comfortless,  indeed ! 
In  spite  of  the  March  wind,  a  dainty  frog,  clinging  to 
trembling  blades  of  grass,  piped  merrily ;  even  un- 
daunted when  the  gusts  dashed  icy  spray  in  his  face. 
Surely,  fur-wrapped  and  stoutly  booted,  I  need  not  com- 
plain. I  pressed  forward  to  the  willows,  and  was  greeted 
by  the  birds.  Scattered  over  every  bush,  hovering  over 
last  year's  nests,  and  bending  topmost  twigs  of  every 
tree,  were  the  crimson-shouldered  starlings  whose  united 
voices  flooded  the  meadows  with  melody. 

As  I  listened,  I  gathered  catkins  from  the  clustered 
alders,  but  found  no  green  thing.  They  seemed  plump 
golden  caterpillars,  shivering  and  squirming  in  the  gusty 
puffing  of  the  joetulant  wind ;  but  being  flowers,  how 
eagerly  we  clutch  at  them,  gather  and  toy  with  them. 
Why  not  feel  the  same  towards  caterpillars  themselves  ? 
They  are  as  a  rule  quite  as  harmless,  and  many  are  far 
more  beautiful  than  any  flower. 

The  army  of  frogs  in  the  marsh  was  not  so  brave  as 
the  little  soldier  in  the  brook.  Every  blast  of  the  March 
winds  quickly  silenced  them  for  a  time.     From  many 


DEAD  WILLOW   BEXD.  125 

a  hundred  coseynooks,  flooded  with  sunshine  and  cheery 
with  the  promised  warmth  of  spring,  exuUant  frogs  had 
for  days  been  rejoicing  over  the  lessening  gripe  of  win- 
ter. It  Avas  a  clear,  full-voiced  expression  of  mingled 
joy  and  content,  and  in  nowise,  as  it  is  often  called,  a 
croak,  or  melancholy  plaint.  Still,  when  a  sudden  blast 
from  the  north  blows  the  brown  rushes,  above  the  roar 
of  its  fell  swoop  can  be  heard  an  unmistakable  tone  of 
sadness,  a  cry  translatable,  "  We  weep  !  we  weep  !"  In- 
deed they  have  cause  to  do  so.  I  too  turned  for  shelter 
to  an  oak  near  by,  but  before  I  could  reach  the  hollow 
in  its  trunk  the  meadows  were  again  at  rest,  and  over 
the  out-stretched  acres  of  the  marsh  came  again  the 
hopeful  voices  of  that  faithful  legion,  the  burden  of 
whose  song  was  "  Keep  up,  keep  up,  keep  I" 

And  so  passed  another  day,  without  any  green  thing ; 
but  the  meadows  were  fruitful  of  promises,  and  putting 
faith  in  the  birds  and  frogs,  I  was  persuaded  to  go  again 
and  again,  and  promised  to  keep  up.  Twice  it  rained. 
Once  it  was  a  conscious  shower,  that,  knowing  it  was 
unwelcome,  was  very  gentle  while  it  stayed,  and  hurried 
off  as  soon  as  practicable.  The  next  was  an  ill-tempered 
dash,  that  allowed  no  drop  to  fall  quietly  to  the  earth, 
but  forced  it  rudely  into  every  nook,  and  made  discon- 
solate all  unsheltered  creatures. 

It  is  a  matter  of  surprise  that  our  rains  of  a  year  liave 
not  been  captured  by  the  professional  essayist  and  made 
the  matter  of  a  thoughtful  book.  They  are  readily 
classified,  for  each  has  features  peculiarly  its  own.  Let 
some  lover  of  out-of-doors  con  this  matter  over,  and  give 
these  fogs,  sprinkles,  showers,  gusts,  nor'-easters,  equinoc- 


126  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

tials,  snows,  and  liail-storms,  that  attention  wliicli  tliey 
deserve.     Eacli  one  is  rich  in  rare  suo^srestiveness. 

Even  the  last  rain,  ill-tempered  as  it  was,  put  no  quie- 
tus on  the  patient  frogs.  Tliey  sung  the  louder,  so  I 
thought,  as  the  rain  came  rattling  on  their  upturned 
faces  and  turned  the  dripping  grass-blades  on  their  backs. 
"  Keep  up  !  keep  !"  they  shouted  as  I  passed ;  and  though 
it  rained,  I  walked  the  length  of  that  long  willow  hedge, 
finding  no  green  thing.  Nor  did  the  rain  keep  back  the 
early  birds ;  great  blue  herons  sailed  among  the  clouds 
and  then  came  trooping  to  the  tall  trees  by  the  marsh. 
Advance-guard  of  the  coming  host,  my  pulses  quickened 
as  I  marked  their  coming.  But  these  were  not  the  only 
birds  to  arrive  from  the  south ;  there  were  small  birds 
in  abundance.  All  the  w^orld  knows  when  the  geese  go 
north ;  it  is  a  fact  sure  to  be  recorded  in  village  papers. 
The  eyes  that  detect  the  geese,  even  wdien  mere  dots 
against  the  sky,  fail  to  see  the  twittering  hosts  in  the 
shrubbery.  It  is,  nevertheless,  an  excellent  indication  of 
milder  w^eather  when  the  Arctic  birds,  that  have  win- 
tered south  of  us,  come  in  great  flocks,  and  enliven  for  a 
day  or  two  our  woods  and  meadows.  To-day  the  meadow 
copses  were  thronged  with  wdiite-throated  sparrows,  and 
each  sung  in  a  subdued  tone  a  few  contemplative  notes, 
as  though  intended  for  no  ears  but  the  singer's.  These 
were  not  the  birds  of  the  past  winter  months.  Many  of 
these  passed  northward  a  week  ago,  but  are  the  winter 
sojourners  of  some  more  southern  valley.  They  come 
in  advance  of  our  summer  birds,  and  foretell  mild  weath- 
er with  moderate  certainty ;  but  sometimes,  let  it  be  borne 
in  mind,  they  sadly  blunder.   A  cold  storm  catches  them, 


DEAD   WILLOW  BEXD.  127 

bewilders  and  disheartens  tliem,  and  as  if  afraid  to  make 
another  effort,  they  tarry  until  almost  summer  weather. 

These  pretty  finches  gave  me  confidence,  and  I  hur- 
ried to  the  willows.  No,  the  leaf-buds  were  still  brown, 
but  swollen ;  and  I  found  no  green  thing. 

But  the  past  was  in  another  month,  and  what  of  to- 
day ? — this  breezy,  frosty,  threatening  April  1st  ? 

The  east  was  but  faintly  streaked  with  rosy  light  as 
I  sought  the  meadows ;  but  the  robins  were  before  me, 
and  each  in  his  post,  from  the  mist-wrapped,  leafless  trees, 
sung  his  morning  hymn.  Anon  the  clouds  parted  as  the 
sun  slowly  rose ;  the  fog,  as  a  curtain,  rolled  upward  and 
away ;  a  flood  of  light  S2)read  over  all  the  scene ;  spring, 
at  last,  with  a  sweet  smile,  came  upon  the  stage — the 
willows  were  a-greening. 

Waste-land,  as  my  neighbors  call  it,  is  always  an  eye- 
sore to  them,  and  many  who  have  passed  Dead  Willow 
Bend  almost  daily  for  years  have  failed  to  discover  its 
beauties.  But  no  contemplative  rambler  would  fail  to 
be  held  by  them,  at  least  on  such  a  day  as  this,  when 
the  waters  chanced  to  be  without  a  ripple,  the  sky  with- 
out a  cloud.  Not  a  leaf  trembled  on  any  twig;  not  a 
bird  broke  the  silence.  Above  and  beneath  a  fathom- 
less depth  of  unstained  blue — on  either  side,  a  wilder- 
ness of  green. 

Guiding,  but  not  propelling  my  boat,  I  slowly  and  si- 
lently moved  forward,  wondering  that  nothing  should 
appear.  At  last,  from  some  distant  meadow,  a  broad- 
winged  bird  came  flying  towards  me.  Nearer  and  near- 
er it  came,  and  not  alarmed  by  my  presence,  settled  in 
the  tall  grass  not  twenty  yards  away.     It  was  a  bittern. 


128  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

Turnbull,  in  liis  "  Birds  of  East  Pennsylvania,"  says 
of  the  bitterns,  tliey  are  "  plentiful  from  the  middle  of 
April  to  October."  This  word  "plentiful"  is  a  conven- 
ient term  when  one  desires  to  speak  in  very  general  and 
non-committal  terms,  but  it  certainly  does  not  give  any 
very  definite  idea  of  the  numbers  of  this  or  that  bird 
likely  to  be  met  with  during  a  summer.  If  the  one  in 
question  were  a  pest,  one -tenth  their  actual  numbers 
would  be  considered  more  than  plenty.  As  it  is,  the 
bittern  being  strictly  inoffensive,  and  at  times  exceeding- 
ly entertaining,  there  are  never  enough  of  them  to  suit 
the  rambler's  taste,  and  I  for  one  cannot  agree  with  Dr. 
Turnbull  that  tliey  are  "  plentiful."  Speaking  in  exact 
terms,  and  solely  with  reference  to  the  valley  of  this 
creek,  they  are  moderately  common,  never  abundant. 

When  any  bird  betakes  itself  to  haunts  not  usually 
frequented  by  its  nearest  kin,  it  becomes  invested  with 
peculiar  interest ;  the  more  so  in  proportion  as  its  hab- 
its differ  from  tliose  of  the  family  of  birds  to  which  it 
belongs.  In  the  case  of  the  bittern,  its  singularity  con- 
sists in  two  features :  it  is  a  hermit,  and  the  possessor  of 
a  very  un-heron-like  voice.  Upon  these  peculiarities 
rests  its  fame.  I  have  for  years  been  accustomed  to  im- 
prove every  opportunity  to  study  the  habits  of  the  bit- 
tern, and  although  more  summers  than  I  care  to  recall 
have  passed  since  I  first  saw  them,  I  do  not  feel  that  we 
are  thoroughly  acquainted.  There  are  certainly  great 
individual  differences  among  them,  and  some  are  far 
more  shy  and  difficult  of  approach  than  others.  Possi- 
bly this  is  due  to  past  unpleasant  experiences  with  man- 
kind. 


DEAD   WILLOW  BEXD.  129 

All  others  of  our  many  herons,  even  the  least  bittern, 
love  one  anotlier's  company.  They  arc  always  more  or 
less  associated  when  they  arrive  in  April — a  few  of  sev- 
eral species  remain  all  winter — and  for  weeks  continue 
to  feed  in  companies.  Indeed,  this  continuance  of  asso- 
ciation is  more  or  less  noticeable  after  the  breeding  sea- 
son commences.  They  have  often  favorite  trees  in 
which  they  roost,  and  become  so  partial  to  them  that,  if 
not  molested,  they  will  return  to  them  year  after  year. 
In  the  American  Naturalist  for  1878,  Dr.  Lockwood 
has  given  a  most  entertaining  account  of  a  heronry 
believed  to  have  been  at  least  fifty  years  old.  Here 
they  not  only  roosted  but  nested.  It  is  somewhat  dif- 
ferent here.  Night -herons,  the  blue,  great  blue,  and 
little  green,  all  associate  in  clustered  elms  and  maples, 
and  remain  apparently  upon  the  best  of  terms.  Per- 
haps these  roosting-places  are  the  combined  remnants  of 
separate  heronries,  in  existence  before  the  general  de- 
struction of  the  forests  in  this  valley.  Being  the  largest 
of  our  birds,  and  still  tlie  most  prominent  feature  of 
our  avi-fauna,  may  not  heronries  along  its  banks  have 
given  rise  to  the  Indian  name  of  the  stream,  Mechen- 
tschiholens-sipu  (Big  Bird  Creek)? 

But  naught  of  this  applies  to  the  bittern.  When  the 
dog -toothed  violet  begins  to  bloom  in  the  sheltered 
nooks  and  corners  of  the  meadows,  then  the  bitterns  ap- 
pear singly,  here  and  there,  and  before  the  first  of  May, 
if  the  air  be  not  too  frosty,  you  may  hear  from  sundown 
until  midnight  their  weird  call  from  the  marshes,  j9^^c^•- 
la-grboh — pxiclc-la-grooh.  I  have  not  much  patience 
with  any  effort  to  describe  the  voices  of  birds  by  coin- 
6'^ 


130  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

ing  syllables  that  when  pronounced  are  supposed  to 
imitate  the  utterances  of  this  or  that  bird.  In  this  case, 
however,  there  is  more  chance  because  of  the  very  un- 
birdlike  character  of  the  sound.  I  tind  many  descrip- 
tions of  the  bittern's  voice,  and  add  the  above  to  the 
series  because  I  noted  it  down  under  very  favorable  cir- 
cumstances. Some  months  ag^o,  while  I  was  v/atchinoj 
minnows  in  a  meadow  brook,  and  at  the  time  wholly 
concealed  by  the  surrounding  reeds,  a  bittern  alighted 
within  ten  paces,  and  soon  after,  it  being  near  sundown, 
uttered  its  strange  cry.  Immediately  I  j^ut  the  sound 
into  words  while  they  were  yet  ringing  in  my  ears,  and 
had  an  opj^ortunity  of  comparing  and  correcting  them 
before  the  bird  saw  me  and  flew  away.  For  this  reason, 
I  submit  them  as  better  than  most  of  the  published  de- 
scriptions of  this  bird's  cry. 

The  so-called  "booming"  is  not,  I  think,  wdiolly  a 
vocal  sound.  In  this  case,  the  bird's  beak,  when  it  ut- 
tered the  cry,  was  not  quite  withdrawn  from  the  water, 
and  its  voice,  therefore,  was  materially  modified  by  this 
fact.  Indeed,  the  sound  is  not  unlike,  in  some  respects, 
that  caused  by  the  sudden  withdrawal  of  a  stout  stick 
from  tenacious  mud,  except  that  it  is  a  series  of  three 
such  sounds,  instead  of  a  single  report. 

My  experience  in  listening  to  bitterns  also  leads  me 
to  conclude  that  the  individual  variation  in  their  utter- 
ances is  very  marked,  and  most  authors  who  have  at- 
tempted to  describe  them  have  given  their  impressions 
of  the  sound  as  heard  at  a  distance.  If  I  correctly  un- 
derstand what  is  meant  by  "  booming,"  a  term  constant- 
ly applied  to  the  bittern,  then  I  have  never  heard  this 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEND.  131 

bird  "  boom  "  when  within  twenty  yards  or  less  of  it ; 
but  if  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  then  the  sound  may 
be  described  by  that  term.  Thoreau,  in  "Summer," 
speaks  of  the  "  bittern  pumping  in  the  fens."  This,  in 
five  words,  covers  the  whole  ground  more  completely 
than  all  the  essays  on  "  booming  bitterns "  ever  pub- 
lished. 

I  have  never  found  tliat  this  bird  was  particularly  par- 
tial to  our  meadows.  Certainly  all  the  other  herons  are, 
and  this  may  be  the  reason  why  he,  a  regular  hermit,  so 
often  shuns  them.  Early  in  the  spring,  while  his  cous- 
ins are  coming,  he  wanders  along  the  creek  shore  and 
willow  hedges,  but  before  the  middle  of  May  he  leaves 
the  lowland  marshes  and  becomes,  for  the  summer,  the 
lonely  tenant  of  some  secluded  spring-hole  in  the  uj^land 
swamps.  Here,  until  late  in  Sej)tember,  his  peculiar 
cry  will  be  often  heard,  not  only  in  the  evening,  but 
during  dark  and  rainy  days,  and  more  than  once  have 
eager  frog-hunters  been  led  astray  by  it,  and  followed 
the  "  booming,"  thinking  they  heard  bull-frogs,  into  the 
deepest  recesses  of  the  swamp. 

I  w^ould  not  have  it  understood  that  they  absolutely 
forsake  the  meadows  during  the  summer,  but  practically 
they  do. 

For  years  I  have  been  familiar  with  a  corner  of  a  neg- 
lected cranberry  bog  near  which  there  grows  a  large 
cluster  of  oak  and  cedar  trees.  Here,  year  after  year,  I 
have  found  a  solitary  bittern,  and  no  bird  that  I  have 
yet  seen  passes,  apparently,  a  more  monotonous  exist- 
ence; yet  could  one  be  there  at  night  and  watch  it  the 
season  through,  doubtless  many  a  little  incident  would 


133  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

be  witnessed,  showing  that  its  life  was  really  not  a  tire- 
some routine,  day  after  day.  This  bittern  in  the  up- 
land bog  has  always  been  a  mystery  to  me  in  one  partic- 
ular. He  or  she  is  always  alone.  I  have  never  seen  a 
pair  there,  and  yet  in  the  summer  of  1877  I  found  a 
nest  with  four  eggs.  It  was  a  loose  bunching  uj)  of 
sticks  and  grass  upon  the  ground.  Two  days  after  I 
found  the  nest,  the  eggs  hatched,  and,  as  usual,  the  young 
birds  were  the  quintessence  of  helpless  awkwardness. 
Even  when  two  weeks  old,  there  was  little  im.j)rovement. 
They  were 

"Awkward,  embarrassed,  stiff ;  without  the  skill 
Of  moving  gracefully  or  standing  still. 
Each  leg,  as  if  suspicious  of  its  brother, 
Desirous  seemed  to  run  away  from  t'other." 

The  parent  bird  did  not  take  kindly  to  my  frequent 
visits,  and  when  within  a  few  paces,  would  ruffle  up  the 
feathers  of  its  head  and  neck,  partly  raise  its  wings,  and 
"  look  daggers  "  at  me  ;  but  its  courage  availed  it  no  fur- 
ther. As  I  came  a  step  or  two  nearer,  the  bird  always 
flew  to  a  tree  near  by,  uttering  a  petulant,  rattling  cry 
while  on  the  Aving.  "When  three  wrecks  old,  and  before 
the  feathers  of  their  wings  were  grown,  the  young  birds, 
by  some  unknown  means,  had  reached  the  lowest  hori- 
zontal branch  of  an  oak-tree  that  overhung  the  nest,  and 
there  they  sat,  near  together,  facing  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, and  solemn  as  owls.  It  was  just  two  weeks  later 
before  they  were  able  to  fly.  Like  the  young  of  the  least 
bittern,  when  very  young  they  uttered  a  shrill,  fife-like 
jpee])^  but  their  voices  grew  coarser  as  the  wrecks  rolled 
by,  and  a  harsh  rattle  was  the  last  sound  I  heard  them 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEND.  133 

utter.  I  do  not  think  that  the  peculiar  cry  of  the  adult 
bird  is  uttered  by  the  young  during  the  summer  in  which 
they  are  hatched. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  courage  and  fierce- 
ness of  a  wounded  bittern.  Xo  exaggeration  has,  I 
think,  crept  into  any  of  these  accounts.  My  own  expe- 
rience, in  one  instance,  leads  me  to  conclude,  that  while 
they  hold  to  discretion  as  the  better  part  of  valor,  and 
do  not  seek  a  quarrel,  they  will,  when  necessitated  so  to 
do,  show  more  courage  than  even  the  largest  falcons. 

While  wandering  along  a  very  weedy  portion  of  Poset- 
quissings  Creek,  I  chanced  upon  a  bittern  which  I  sup- 
posed, at  first,  to  be  wounded.  I  cautiously  approached, 
and  when  within  six  feet  of  it,  to  my  utter  surprise,  it 
made  a  dart  at  me,  and  with  such  vigorous  use  of  both 
leo^s  and  wins^s  that  it  was  evident  no  limbs  were  bro- 
ken.  I  stepped  back  quickly,  and  then  dodging  behind 
a  tree,  saw  that  my  pursuer  could  or  did  progress  but  a 
few  feet,  and  was  held  by  a  fragment  of  old  fish-net, 
which  had  become  entangled  about  the  bittern's  leg,  and 
was  also  securely  fastened  to  a  branch  of  button-bush. 
It  was  now  my  turn  to  be  brave,  and  I  determined  to  capt- 
ure or  at  least  release  the  bird.  How  to  accomplish  this 
w^as  another  question.  I  tried  coaxing,  but  the  bittern 
had  no  faith  in  simple  English,  and  replied  to  every 
w^ord  with  a  vicious  stab  of  its  beak,  or  a  threat  to  use 
it,  that  was  unmistakable.  Finally,  I  cut  a  long  stick 
with  a  deep  crotch  in  one  end,  and  after  many  elforts 
succeeded  in  getting  the  prongs  of  the  forked  stick  about 
the  bird's  neck  and  holding  its  head  to  the  ground. 
Then  holding  the  stick  with  one  hand,  I  cut  the  net 


134  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

from  its  leg  witli  my  left  hand — an  awkward  job — and 
so  set  the  bird  free,  so  far  as  its  legs  were  concerned. 
Immediately  it  found  this  out,  and  commenced  using  its 
claws  with  considerable  effect.  I  w^as  receiving  more 
scratches  than  desirable,  and  let  the  bird  up  from  the 
ground.  For  a  moment  it  was  undecided,  and  I  thought 
meditated  an  attack.  It  had  all  the  diabolism  of  ex- 
pression ever  seen  in  a  wild-cat's  face.  I  stood  ready 
with  my  stick  to  strike  it  if  it  approached,  but  instead, 
it  rose  slowly  upward  and  flew  over  the  creek,  and  when 
over  the  middle  of  the  stream,  gave  an  unearthly  cry, 
and  fell  dead. 

I  waited  for  many  minutes,  in  hopes  the  bittern  that 
I  knew  was  skulking  in  the  weeds  on  the  shore  would 
make  his  aj^pearance  ;  but  in  vain.  In  all  probability, 
from  some  unseen  outlook,  he  was  just  as  patiently 
w^atching  me,  and  wishing  I  would  disappear.  Well,  I 
did  as  he  wished,  and  slowly  sculled  the  boat  until  oppo- 
site the  clump  of  willows.  While  not  so  graceful  as  the 
weeping- wallow,  the  kind  here  is  a  handsome  one,  and  has 
the  great  merit  of  being  attractive  to  most  birds.  Dur- 
ing the  early  summer  particularly,  the  newly  arrived 
warblers  congregate  in  its  thick-set  branches,  and  when, 
in  November,  it  has  dropped  every  leaf,  its  bared  twigs 
are  favorite  resting-places  for  the  enormous  flocks  of 
redwings  which  tarry  until  late  in  the  marshy  mead- 
ows. 

My  attention  has  recently  been  called  to  the  fact  that 
about  the  roots  of  these  w^illows  there  are  always  many 
burrows,  and  the  opinion  expressed  that  the  meadow- 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEXD.  135 

mice  tenanted  most  of  these  and  fed  largely  npon  the 
delicate  rootlets.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  bur- 
rows are  there  because  the  trees  happen  to  be  growing 
upon  the  banks  of  the  creek,  and  the  same  would  be  the 
case  were  any  other  tree  planted  or  growing  in  their 
stead.  Still,  I  must  admit  that  my  examinations  of 
other  localities  where  there  were  no  willows  did  not 
bear  me  out. 

On  landing,  I  found  the  usual  burrows,  but  all  were 
too  large  to  be  the  work  of  meadow-mice.  I  endeav- 
ored to  probe  them  and  determine  what  creatures  occu- 
pied them,  but  in  this  was  altogether  unsuccessful.  No 
mammals  appeared,  and  only  from  a  pool  of  rain-water 
came  crawling  forth  a  half -grown,  spotted  turtle.  I 
must  confess  to  my  disappointment.  Yet  what  more 
suggestive  creature  could  have  appeared?  Picking  it 
up,  I  carried  it  a  dozen  paces  back  into  the  meadow  and 
placed  it  in  a  shallow  depression,  thickly  surrounded  by 
a  dense  growth  of  grass.  Once  upon  dry  ground,  the 
turtle  looked  about  in  every  direction,  craning  its  neck 
to  the  utmost,  and  then  turning  about,  started  in  great 
haste  directly  towards  the  creek,  distant  about  fifty  feet. 
It  could  not  have  taken  a  straighter  course  had  the  stream 
been  in  full  view.  The  weeds  were  high  the  entire  way, 
and  there  was  no  beaten  path.  IIow,  then,  could  it  so 
unerringly  take  the  shortest  route  to  the  creek?  The 
waters  were  not  rippling,  and  so  could  not  be  heard,  and 
if  the  sense  of  sight  availed  nothing  in  the  premises, 
was  the  creature  guided  by  sense  of  smell  ?  This  seems 
probable,  but  is  it  not  possible  that  the  position  of  the 
creek  was  known  to  the  turtle  by  the  trees  that  grew 


136  WASTE-LAXD   WANDERINGS. 

upon  tlie  banks?  Could  a  turtle  not  take  its  bearings 
by  certain  landmarks,  and  so  be  guided  by  sight,  al- 
though the  point  sought  was  not  within  the  range  of  its 
vision?  Several  years  ago  I  made  a  large  series  of  ex- 
periments with  turtles  and  water-snakes,  with  reference 
to  their  possessing  a  special  sense  of  direction,  and  I  am 
quite  ready  to  believe  that  these  animals  do  take  notice 
of  the  position  of  trees,  and  for  such  a  purpose.  Of  a  se- 
ries of  experiments  with  the  common  water-snake,  I  found 
that  in  ninety  per  cent,  of  the  removals  from  the  water 
to  a  point  three  hundred  yards  distant  the  snakes  took 
the  most  direct  course  to  the  locality  from  which  I  had 
taken  them.  The  meadows  where  I  experimented  were 
covered  with  short  grass,  and  the  nearest  prominent  ob- 
jects were  the  trees  upon  the  creek-bank.  Under  tliese 
the  snakes  were  accustomed  to  remain  most  of  the  time 
when  in  the  water,  and  in  summer  they  basked  in  the 
sun  near  them.  Could  not  this  long  familiarity  have  so 
impressed  the  general  ajDpearance  of  the  trees  upon  the 
snake's  brains  that  they  could  and  did  recognize  them 
when  carried  to  a  distance  of  three  hundred  yards  ?  lit 
every  case  I  was  careful  to  blindfold  the  snakes,  so  that 
they  could  take  no  bearings  during  their  inland  journey. 
My  experiments  with  turtles  resulted  similarly.  These 
creatures  may  have  been  guided  by  the  sense  of  smell, 
but  I  do  not  believe  it. 

It  is  somewhat  different  with  fishes.  If  they  do  not 
possess  a  "  sense  of  direction,"  it  is  impossible  to  account 
for  their  quick  finding  out  of  the  precise  localities  of 
their  nests.  "  Memory  and  recognition  of  localities  seen 
one  or  more  times"  will  not  explain  the  matter  when 


DEAD  WILLOW  EEXD.  137 

applied  to  such  experiments  as  I  have  made ;  as,  for 
instance,  when  I  separated  a  mother  catfish  from  her 
brood,  and  had  a  thick  mat  of  water-milfoil  between 
them ;  and  again,  a  nesting  snnfish  was  taken  a  long  dis- 
tance down  a  stream,  and  yet  promptly  returned  to  its 
nest,  although  it  could  thread  its  way  only  through  a 
narrow  and  tortuous  channel,  flanked  on  each  side  with 
dense  aquatic  vegetation.  Yet,  when  opposite  the  nest, 
which  was  near  the  shore,  it  came  directly  through  the 
weeds  to  it.  In  this  case  there  were  no  landmarks,  and 
it  is  still  to  be  explained  how  the  fish  could  know  which 
direction  to  take ;  for  the  creek  was  essentially  the  same 
in  appearance  for  a  much  greater  distance  than  it  could 
see. 

It  is  useless  to  dispute  the  claim  of  the  palm  to  be 
the  type  of  grace  in  the  plant  world  ;  but  were  there  no 
palms,  the  purple  coxcomb  grass,  in  August,  and  on  these 
meadows,  would  bid  fair  to  win  the  prize  in  a  contest 
for  that  claim.  I  had  already  paused  to  admire  a  rank 
growth  of  cat-tail,  about  which  was  entangled  a  pretty 
climbing  hempweed,  with  its  pink  and  purple  blossoms, 
and  still  remembered  the  beautiful  oval  clusters  of  pur- 
ple "  meadow-comb "  grass,  that  as  I  came  from  home 
was  sparkling  with  dew,  and  as  it  trembled  in  the  pass- 
ing breeze  was  the  embodiment  of  grace.  To  eclipse 
the  merits  of  these,  the  plant  must  indeed  be  beautiful, 
and  this  the  purple  coxcomb  had  the  high  honor  of  doing. 
I  forgot,  for  the  time,  the  outspread  beauties  of  the  ear- 
lier hours,  while  I  sat  and  gazed  at  the  tall,  waving,  pur- 
ple plumes  of  this  beautiful  grass.     One  feature  of  the 


138  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

plant  was  here  very  noticeable :  nearly  one-lialf  of  it  was 
pale-green,  and  so  contrasted  well  with  that  which  was 
deejDly  colored.  Yelvety  sumach,with  its  crimson  fruit, 
was  a  fitting  background  to  the  picture,  and  the  spot 
needed  nothing  more.  Nature  had  here  finished  her 
work  for  the  time.  I  had,  as  I  drew  my  boat  close  to 
the  shore,  a  little  tropic  to  myself — rich  in  color,  rank 
in  growth,  wild  in  surroundings,  and  shared  only  with 
bees,  butterflies,  and  birds. 

A  year  ago,  I  met  the  owner  of  these  meadows — a 
man  of  business — and  when  I  sj)oke  of  the  beauty  of 
this  purple  panicum  he  snorted,  and  I  heard  a  growl 
that  it  was  "no  use  as  fodder."  To  think  that  such 
men  live,  ay,  and  are  in  the  majority !  I  would  have 
been  glad  to  kick  him.  If  it  ever  occurs  to  one  to  feed 
the  brain  as  well  as  the  stomach,  let  such  beautiful  plants 
as  this  grass  be  lovingly  looked  upon.  To  this  crabbed 
land-owner,  it  appeared  to  possess  no  beauty,  because  his 
cows  preferred  clover  or  timothy  wherewith  to  fill  their 
paunches.  Whether  this  surly  money-bags  knows  it  or 
not,  a  pleasing  view  from  one's  dining-room  windows 
is  a  safeguard  against  some  of  the  dyspeptic  ills  that 
plague  mankind.  After  your  meal,  let  3^our  eyes  feast 
on  beauty.  My  mid-day  lunch,  I  am  sure,  was  sweet- 
er because  of  this  beautiful  purple  grass  waving  its 
graceful  plumes  before  me.  Yes,  it  sweetened  my 
crust  and  gave  an  additional  sparkle  to  my  cup  of  cold 
water. 

At  the  lower  end  of  Dead  Willow  Bend  there  is  a 
pretty  cove-inlet,  through  which  the  tides  rush  on  their 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEND.  139 

way  to  alternately  submerge  and  nncover  the  low-lying 
meadows.  A  boat  can  pass  up  at  liigli  tide,  and  an  ex- 
ploring expedition  on  a  very  small  scale  is  practicable. 
I  have  been  in  many  such  cove-inlets,  and  certainly  they 
are  all  beautiful.  Trees  crowd  their  banks,  and  when  in 
full  leaf  the  sky  is  wholly  shut  out.  It  is  water  be- 
neath, foliage  on  either  side  and  above.  I  have  never 
failed  to  find  birds  in  such  localities.  However  sultry 
the  day,  here  it  is  cool,  and  however  forsaken  the  open 
fields  in  the  glare  of  an  August  noon,  here  there  will  be 
birds,  and  little  if  anything  else  is  needed  to  make  the 
surroundings  all  that  we  wish. 

While  lingering  here  I  was  surprised  to  find  so  many 
song-sparrows  congregated  about  the  creek,  and  particu- 
larly at  this  point.  These  birds  belong  to  the  garden, 
the  gooseberry  hedge,  and  not  farther  away  than  the 
road  -  side,  where  they  welcomed  us  as  we  came  from 
town.  Now  they  would  seem  to  prefer  the  most  retired 
places.  Can  it  be  that  the  European  sparrow  has  caused 
this  change  ?  Another  reason  for  the  extermination  of 
the  latter.  It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  these 
song-sparrows  looked  admirably  well  in  their  new"  cpiar- 
ters.  They  ran  in  and  out  among  the  roots  of  the  trees, 
laid  bare  at  low  tide,  and  skipped  so  daintily  over  the 
mud  as  Imrdly  to  leave  a  track  upon  its  shining,  slimy 
surface.  They  chased  spiders,  I  thought,  as  well  as 
hunted  for  stranded  seeds ;  and  happy  in  the  abundance 
that  surrounded  them,  ever  and  anon  mounted  some  pro- 
jecting root,  where  their  song  would  have  free  course, 
and  the  rippling  melody  float"  afar  upon  the  bosom  of 
the  stream. 


140  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

There  is  a  point  in  our  row-boat  navigation  wliicli  be- 
comes at  times  monotonous  —  waiting  for  the  tide  to 
turn.  To-day  I  waited  until  the  deej^est  visible  twig 
on  the  creek  bottom  was  laid  bare,  thinking  then  surely 
the  upward  flow  would  commence ;  but  no,  the  waters 
must  recede  yet  a  little  more,  and  I  marked  another  ob- 
ject just  below  the  surface.  This,  in  time,  rippled  the 
outward  flow,  and  I  looked  for  a  telltale  eddy  which 
never  appeared.  A  change  took  place  at  last,  yet  I  could 
not  determine  at  what  precise  fraction  of  a  second.  It 
haj)pened  between  winks — without  a  sign.  As  I  gazed 
intently  at  a  water-soaked  leaf,  which  just  reached  the 
surface,  the  water  was  flowing  out,  and  before  I  could 
realize  the  change  the  tide  had  turned. 

Although  it  is  well  known  that  the  Indians  were  con- 
stantly fishing,  and  were  expert  fishermen,  it  is  quite 
certain  that  there  w^ere  far  more  large  or  fully  grown 
specimens  of  our  various  fishes  met  with  in  their  time 
than  are  now  found  in  the  creek  or  even  in  the  river. 
It  may,  indeed,  be  doubted  if  we  know  what  is  the 
maximum  size  of  some  of  our  fishes.  For  a  fish  to 
escape  nets,  hook,  and  weirs  for  a  dozen  or  twenty  years 
must  now  be  a  very,  very  rare  occurrence. 

Among  the  ashes  of  the  Indians'  camp-fires  it  is  well 
to  look,  when  opportunity  offers ;  for  therein  bones  are 
frequently  found  which  tell  the  story,  without  exaggera- 
tion, of  what  fishes  these  jDrimitive  folk  were  accustomed 
to  capture. 

Within  a  few  rods  of  the  Bend,  on  a  knoll,  there  were, 
until  recently,  the  unmistakable  evidences  of  such  camp- 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEND.  141 

fires.  By  lucky  chance  I  liappeiiedj  not  long  ago,  to  be 
passing  where  a  space  was  being  plonglied  and  prepared 
for  a  basket-willow  plantation.  I  noticed,  long  before  I 
readied  the  spot,  being  on  higher  ground,  that  the  up- 
turned earth  was  very  dark,  and  so  went  over  to  exam- 
ine the  spot.  The  soil  was  really  black,  the  discolora- 
tion arising  from  the  presence  of  great  quantities  of 
finely  powdered  charcoal.  These  camp-fire  sites,  two  in 
number,  were  circular  in  outline,  about  fifteen  feet  in 
diameter,  and  so  closely  situated  that  when  seen  from  a 
distance  the  outline  of  the  two  was  that  of  an  enormous 
figure  eight. 

I  straightway  commenced  an  exhaustive  search  for 
Indian  relics,  and  was  very  successful.  Bits  of  pottery 
were  numerous,  and  the  omnipresent  arrow-heads  were 
well  represented.  Two  large  circular  plates  of  stone, 
quite  thin,  smooth,  and  well  burned,  were  of  much  inter- 
est, as  I  had  not  gathered  precisely  similar  forms  in 
my  earlier  relic -hunting  expeditions.  The  quantity  of 
notched  pebbles  was  remarkable,  and  their  presence  here 
was,  I  thought,  evidence  that,  at  least  among  the  Indians 
of  I^ew  Jersey,  these  stones  were  used  as  net-weights, 
rather  than  for  other  purposes,  as  has  been  suggested. 
Here  was  undoubtedly  a  temporary  camp,  near  an  ex- 
cellent sj)ot  for  fishing,  and  all  the  surroundings  sug- 
gested fish  and  fishing.  The  fact  that  the  locality  was 
subject  to  overflow  from  freshets  during  the  winter  and 
early  spring,  at  once  put  it  out  of  the  question  that  this 
was  other  than  a  temporary  or  periodically  used  site. 

To  return  to  the  notched  pebbles :  because  so  simple 
an  implement  was  used  by  the  Ojibwa  Indians  of  the 


143  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

I^ortli-west  as  fuel-breakers,  as  has  been  stated  by  a  cor- 
respondent of  "  Science,"  it  does  not  follow  tliat  here  in 
JSTew  Jersey  our  Indians  broke  their  wood  with  such 
exceedingly  awkward  tools.  A  stone  axe,  with  a  well- 
sharpened  edge,  was  too  common  an  object  among  them 
not  to  have  been  put  to  such  uses,  instead  of  reserved 
exclusively  for  cracking  skulls.  Again,  these  notched 
pebbles  have  too  frequently  been  found  in  alluvial  de- 
posits, so  associated  as  to  show  that  a  large  number  of 
them  w^ere  used  together,  as  in  ^veighting  iish-nets. 
Here  it  would  appear  that  a  net  had  been  lost  or  for- 
gotten, and  all  traces  of  it  had  subsequently  disappeared 
except  the  pebbles  that  were  once  attached  to  it. 

But  what  more  than  all  the  stone  implements  that  I 
gathered — a  hundred  or  more — intensely  interested  me, 
w^ere  the  remains  of  fislies  and  birds  that  were  scattered 
all  through  the  fire-discolored  earth. 

I  gathered  every  bone  and  fragment  of  one  that  I 
could  find,  and  after  much  labor  finally  determined  the 
great  majority  to  be  the  remains  of  the  shad,  rockfish, 
white -perch,  catfish,  and  sunfish.  I  found  also  a  few 
scales  and  a  fragment  of  the  jaw  of  the  great  bony  gar 
and  of  the  sturgeon. 

Of  the  bird-bones,  those  identified  were  of  geese  and 
herons,  except  a  single  specimen  which,  although  much 
broken,  was  ascertained  to  be  the  breastbone  of  a  peli- 
can.    Of  this  bone,  more  hereafter. 

It  was  after  a  study  of  these  fish-bones  that  I  became 
convinced  that  in  Indian  times  our  fishes  attained  a 
much  larger  size  than  now.  Sunfish  or  bream  were  then 
frequently  caught,  which  measured  eight  and  nine  inches 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEND.  143 

in  lengtli.  Sucli  fish  are  not  now  seen  on  any  of  the 
strings  of  even  our  most  successful  anglers. 

While  it  is  true  that  the  Delaware  and  its  tributaries 
could  not,  even  in  Indian  times,  boast  of  such  monstrous 
cattish  as  are  found  in  the  Mississippi,  it  is,  on  the  oth- 
er hand,  equally  true  that  our  two  or  three  species  of  cat- 
fish did,  at  this  earlier  time,  attain  a  much  larger  size 
than  now.  Comparing  the  skull  of  one  taken  from  the 
ashes  of  the  old  camp-fire  with  that  of  a  fish  Aveighiug 
four  pounds,  I  found  that  the  former,  estimating  the 
weight  by  the  proportionately  greater  breadth  of  the  old 
skull,  to  have  been  nearly  twice  as  great.  Tlie  catfish 
that  the  Indian  had  caught  weighed  between  seven  and 
eight  pounds,  and  none  such  have,  I  venture  to  state, 
been  taken  from  the  creek  or  river  within  the  present 
century. 

This  is  also  true  of  the  stri2)ed-bass  or  rockfish,  so  far 
as  it  is  found  in  the  river  or  its  many  tributary  creeks. 
In  other  words,  the  Indians  ^vere  accustomed  to  capture 
large  numbers  that  weighed  from  ten  to  thirty  pounds. 
Now,  rockfish  of  even  the  lighter  weight  are  not  com- 
monly found  beyond  the  limits  of  the  bay,  and  very 
seldom  does  a  "  ten -pounder"  find  its  way  into  the 
creek. 

With  other  species  it  became  a  matter  of  numbers  or 
relative  abundance,  and  not  of  weight.  Even  now  stur- 
geon wander  far  up  the  creek,  and  specimens  measuring 
six  feet  in  lengtli  are  not  uncommon  ;  but  when  the  Ind- 
ians were  the  sole  possessors  of  the  land,  they  depended 
upon  trapping  and  spearing  sturgeon  in  abundance,  and 
its  smoked  flesh  was  an  important  article  of  food  daring 


144  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

the  winter.  Should  the  Indian  return,  his  supply  of 
sturgeon  would  go  a  very  little  way  towards  satisfying 
his  winter  needs. 

Even  more  striking  is  the  case  of  the  bony  gar.  This 
fish  is  now  so  rare  in  the  river,  that  but  few  people 
have  any  knowledge  of  it ;  yet,  in  pre-colonial  times,  it 
was  exceedingly  abundant,  and  judging  from  the  frag- 
ments of  jawbones,  they  were  formerly  found  in  Cross- 
wicks  Creek  of  the  very  largest  size. 

So  few  bird-bones  were  to  be  found,  as  compared  with 
the  remains  of  fishes,  it  would  appear  that  the  Indians, 
while  they  tarried  here,  were  strictly  ichthyophagi ;  the 
birds  eaten  being  such  as  were  met  Avith  while  the 
men  were  engaged  in  fishing,  and  not  regularly  hunted. 
This  seems  the  more  j)robable,  as  all  were  aquatic,  fish- 
eating  birds — geese,  ducks,  and  herons;  with  these  was 
found  the  breastbone  of  a  pelican ;  and  a  word  here 
about  this  once  abundant  bird.  Speaking  of  birds  which 
have  disappeared.  Dr.  Turnbull  has  written :  "  The  rough- 
billed  pelican  was  also  frequent  on  the  Hudson  and  the 
Delaware,  but  is  now  a  very  rare  visitant  to  the  last- 
mentioned  river  only."  At  how  late  a  date  it  was 
frequent  upon  the  Delaware  I  cannot  satisfactorily  de- 
tern:iine,  and  probably  the  disappearance  was  largely 
synchronous  with  the  English  settlements  upon  the  river 
two  centuries  ago.  Early  in  the  last  century,  however, 
flocks  of  pelicans  came  up  the  river  as  far  as  the  head 
of  tide-water,  and  their  presence  was  recorded  by  a  resi- 
dent of  the  Falls  of  the  Delaware.  They  were  also  seen 
by  the  farmer-residents  of  the  Crosswicks  valley,  on  the 
sand-bars  and  banks  of  the  creek.     I  cannot  learn  of  the 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEXD.  145 

presence  of  this  bird  during  the  past  fifty  years,  and 
probably,  in  that  time,  not  one  has  ventured  on  the 
river  above  Phihidelphia. 

Standing  to-day  upon  this  blackened  earth  that  marks 
an  ancient  camp,  it  is  not  difficult  to  recall  what  time  the 
fires  burned  brightly  and  all  was  active  life  about  them. 
Was  it  day  ?  The  dense  forest  of  nut-bearing  trees  cast 
a  deep  shadow  over  all,  and  not  a  ray  of  the  torrid,  mid- 
sumn:ier  sun  ever  reached  the  dank  meadow  turf.  Was 
it  night?  Through  the  gloomy  recesses  of  this  same 
forest  sounded  the  weird  cry  of  the  eagle-owl,  the  howl 
of  the  wolf,  the  bark  of  the  fox,  and  blood-curdling 
scream  of  the  wary  cougar. 

Then  all  this  wide  reach  of  open  meadow  was  a  for- 
est, and  the  nuts  that  the  Indians  gathered  were  a  no  in- 
considerable source  of  food.  Walnut,  butternut,  shell- 
bark  hickory,  chestnut,  chinkapin,  and  hazel  grew  in 
great  luxuriance. 

The  creek,  and  river  too,  were  deeper  then  than  now  ; 
their  currents  swifter,  and  the  islands  well  defined,  heav- 
ily timbered  and  stable.  The  trees  that  then  grew  upon 
the  islands  and  the  main  shores  stood  as  faithful  guards, 
and  resisted  the  encroachment  of  floatin*?  ice  and  the 
torrents  of  the  yearly  freshets.  The  shifting  sand-bars 
were  then  far  fewer  and  of  inconsiderable  areas,  as  com- 
pared with  those  that  now  choke  up  the  channel  and 
bafl^le  the  navi^^ator's  skill. 

In  May,  1740,  long  after  the  Indians  had  been  dis- 
placed by  the  English  settlers,  Peter  Kalm,  the  Swedish 
naturalist,  described  the  bank  of  the  river  for  a  few 
miles  above  and  below  the  mouth  of  Crosswicks  Creek 
7 


148  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

as  follows :  "  About  noon  I  left  Philadelpliia,  and  went 
on  board  a  small  yaclit  wliicli  sails  continually  up  and 
down  the  river  Delaware,  between  Trenton  and  Phila- 
delphia. .  .  .  Sturgeons  leaped  often  a  fathom  into  the 
air.  We  saw  them  continuing  this  exercise  all  day  till 
we  came  to  Trenton.  The  banks  on  the  Pennsylvania 
side  were  low,  and  those  on  the  l!^ew  Jersey  side,  steep 
and  sandy,  but  not  very  high.  On  both  sides  we  per- 
ceived forests  of  tall  trees  with  deciduous  leaves.  .  .  . 

"  The  banks  of  the  river  were  now  chiefly  high  and 
steej)  (above  Burlington)  on  the  side  of  'New  Jersey, 
consisting  of  a  pale,  brick-colored  soil.  On  the  Pennsyl- 
vania side  they  were  gently  sloping,  and  consisted  of  a 
blackish,  ricli  mould,  mixed  with  particles  of  Glimmer 
{Mica).  On  the  New  Jersey  side  appeared  some  firs, 
but  seldom  on  the  other.  .  .  . 

'^  The  river  Delaware  was  very  narrow  here  (at  mouth 
of  Crosswicks  Creek),  and  the  banks  the  same  as  we 
found  them  yesterday." 

On  his  journey  by  stage  from  Trenton  to  New  York 
he  noticed,  near  the  former  place,  "  abundance  of  chest- 
nut-trees in  the  woods.  They  often  stood  in  excessive 
poor  ground,  which  was  neither  too  dry  nor  too  wet," 
and,  let  me  add,  they  grow  in  this  manner  still ;  but 
there  is  one  difference  in  them :  the  nuts  are  good  in 
proportion  as  the  soil  is  suited  to  the  tree.  Too  wet  or 
too  sandy  a  situation  will  render  the  nuts  small  and 
bitter. 

Our  author  says :  "  Tulip-trees  did  not  appear  on  the 
road,  but  the  peoj^le  said  there  were  some  in  the  woods." 
They  might  have  said  there  were  a  great  many ;  if  not, 


DEAD  Vv'ILLOW  BEND.  147 

then  during  the  past  century  tliis  tree  has  replaced  oth- 
ers, which  are  now  less  abundant  than  formerly. 

Again,  he  says:  "The  beaver- tree  grows  in  the 
swamps.  It  was  now  (June  1st)  in  flower,  and  the  fra- 
grancy  of  its  blossoms  had  so  perfumed  the  air  that  one 
could  enjoy  it  before  one  approached  the  swamps ;  and 
this  fine  smell  likewise  showed  that  a  beaver-tree  was 
near  us,  though  we  often  happened  not  to  see  it."  Prob- 
ably this  tree  was  much  more  abundant  two  centuries 
ago,  and  even  when  Kalm  wrote,  than  now.  In  many 
local  documents  I  have  found  that  the  term  "  beaver- 
tree  swamp  "  was  used  as  descriptive  of  such  localities ; 
wdiich  leads  me  to  conclude  that  magnolias  were  promi- 
nent trees  in  such  situations.  They  certainly  are  not 
so  at  present. 

The  bare  and  slender  branches  of  the  dead  willow 
were  now  casting  their  longest  shadows,  and  bade  me 
seek  a  safe  landing  for  my  boat  promptly,  if  I  would 
not  be  benighted ;  for  once  on  shore,  there  were  four 
miles  of  meadows  to  be  trudged  over  before  I  could  lift 
the  latch  of  my  door-yard  gate. 

It  quite  often  happens  that  when  the  naturalist  is 
intently  engaged  with  one  object,  another,  wholly  un- 
exiDected,  forces  itself  upon  his  attention.  A  captive 
serpent  may  disgorge  a  frog,  or  a  wounded  heron  vomit 
a  fish  ;  and  so,  this  evening,  while  anxiously  seeking  for 
some  sufficiently  large  and  dense  growth  wherein  to  run 
my  boat,  I  happened  upon  a  black  snake  in  a  cluster  of 
button  ~  bushes,  and  much  to  my  surprise,  it  "  showed 
fight." 


148  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

From  what  I  have  seen  of  these  creatures,  something 
very  extraordinary  must  have  occurred  to  induce  them 
to  attack,  or  even  face,  you  when  menaced.  In  tliis  case, 
the  snake  disputed  my  ajDproach  as  I  proceeded  to  draw 
my  boat  into  the  bushes.  It  darted  at  me,  full  half  its 
length,  and  suddenly  withdrawing,  again  struck  out.  A 
moment's  consideration  of  this  unusual  exhibition  of 
courage  on  the  part  of  a  black  snake  revealed  the  fact 
that  it  was  very  fixed  in  its  movements,  not  j^assing  to 
any  of  the  surrounding  branches,  as  I  moved  from  side 
to  side  to  get  a  better  view.  This  fixedness  of  position 
as  well  as  of  purpose  so  j)ic[ued  my  curiosity  that  I  went 
within  striking  distance,  and  warding  off  the  attack  with 
one  arm,  pulled  down  the  bushes  with  the  other.  This 
action  on  my  part  led  to  the  discovery  that  I  was  not 
the  first  person  the  snake  had  recently  encountered,  and 
I  am  glad  to  add  that  I  have  never  been  so  cruel,  even 
towards  snakes,  as  had  the  coward  who  had  found  this 
snake.  It  had  its  back  injured,  and  had  been  impaled 
about  the  middle  of  its  body  upon  a  sharpened  branch 
of  the  bushes.  I  quickly  destroyed  the  snake.  Perhaps 
the  fellow  who  did  this  deed  may  meet  with  this  record 
of  his  cruelty,  and  learn  that  I  write  him  here  a  coward 
and  a  brute. 

As  I  walked  home  this  evening,  I  thought  of  the 
tenacity  of  life  exhibited  by  many  of  the  lower  verte- 
brates. How  long  this  tortured  black  snake  had  been 
impaled  in  the  bushes  I  could  not  tell,  but  probably  for 
twenty-four  hours.  How  long  it  could  have  lived  un- 
der such  circumstances  I  should  like  much  to  know. 

There  is  an  old  saying  current  in  this  neighborhood 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEXD.  149 

that  snakes,  wlien  fatally  injured  during  the  day,  never 
die  until  after  sundown ;  that  so  long  as  they  can  bask 
in  the  sun,  however  mangled  they  may  be,  they  will  re- 
main alive.  Of  course  this  is  an  exaggeration,  and  yet 
I  am  not  surprised  that  such  an  impression  should  have 
become  common  in  the  country.  I  have  often  seen  hog- 
nosed  snakes  decapitated  by  the  plough,  and  when  the 
ploughman  came  again  in  his  rounds  to  the  spot,  the 
headless  snake  would  strike  at  him.  At  first  it  puzzled 
me  to  conceive  how  the  reptile  knew  of  the  man's  ap- 
proach ;  but  I  found,  by  experimenting  with  one  such 
headless  snake,  that  the  approach  of  the  plough  was  rec- 
ognized by  the  tremor  in  the  earth  caused  by  the  tramp 
of  the  horses.  Even  in  sandy  soils  this  tremor  is  very 
considerable,  and  can  be  recognized  very  readily. 

This  is  too  painful  a  subject  to  enter  into  more  fully, 
and  let  it  suffice  to  say  that  a  fracture  of  the  spine,  and 
sometimes  a  flattening  of  the  skull,  paralyzes,  but  does 
not  kill,  and  consciousness  returning,  such  injured  snakes 
may  linger  for  hours  in  agony.  If  people  must  kill 
snakes  (harmless  species  ought  never  to  be  molested)  let 
the  work  be  done  thoroughly. 

Just  as  abruptly  as  my  thoughts  were  turned  tow- 
ards snakes,  so  they  forsook  them  when,  touching  my 
foot  upon  what  I  supposed  to  be  a  stone,  I  found  it  to 
be  a  large  box-tortoise.  As  is  my  custom,  I  examined 
the  plastron  to  see  if  any  name  or  date  had  been  cut 
thereon.  In  this  case  there  was  neither.  I  had  better 
fortune,  in  this  respect,  during  a  hill-side  ramble,  in  May, 
1885,  as  I  then  came  across  one  of  these  uncouth  creat- 
ures, and  to  my  surprise  and  delight,  the  following  was 


150  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

found  to  be  distinctly  cut  upon  the  plastron,  "  J.  Abbott, 
1821."  A  close  examination  conclusively  showed  there 
could  be  no  mistake  in  the  date,  and  it  was  evident  that 
sixty -four  years  ago  my  grandfather  had  found  and 
marked  the  tortoise  in  the  manner  described.  I  found 
the  animal  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  house  then 
occupied  by  my  grandfather,  and  it  is  probable,  there- 
fore, that  at  or  near  this  same  spot  the  creature  w^as 
found  and  marked  more  than  half  a  century  ago. 

The  tortoise  was  by  no  means  a  large  specimen,  meas- 
uring but  four  and  one-half  inches  in  length,  by  a  little 
less  than  four  in  width.  Evidences  of  great  age,  how- 
ever, were  not  wanting.  The  edge  of  the  upper  shell 
had  been  broken,  and  the  fractured  part  worn  very 
smooth.  The  yellow  markings  of  both  the  upper  and 
lower  shells  were  much  less  prominent  than  is  usual. 
There  was  no  evidence  of  any  appreciable  increase  in 
size  since  the  name  and  date  mentioned  were  cut. 

Previous  to  November,  1885, 1  had  never  found  any 
very  young  box-tortoises.  On  the  19th  of  that  month 
I  met  with  a  single  specimen.  It  was  found  on  the 
edge  of  a  shallow  pond,  in  very  damp  earth,  and  I  judged 
from  this  fact  that  such  a  locality,  if  indeed  not  open 
water,  was  preferred  by  these  creatures,  when  young,  to 
the  high  and  dry  fields  and  woodland  w^here  the  adults 
are  usually  found.  IIow  far  I  was  right — if  I  am  right — 
in  my  surmise,  the  subsequent  eventful  career  of  this 
young  tortoise  may  serve  to  show.  On  the  same  day  I 
placed  it  in  a  large  aquarium,  so  arranged  that  it  could 
remain  on  dry  land,  in  or  on  damp  earth,  or  beneath  the 
water.     The  animal's  actions  clearly  showed  that  water 


DEAD  WILLOW  BEND.  151 

was  necessary  for  its  existence.  To  further  test  tliis,  I 
placed  it  for  twenty-four  hours  in  a  vessel  containing 
dry  earth,  and  it  gave  unquestionable  evidences  of  suffer- 
ing and  inability  to  remain  for  any  significant  length  of 
time  in  a  comparatively  dry  atmosphere. 

Heplacing  it  in  the  aquarium,  it  immediately  burrowed 
into  the  soft  mud,  as  deeply  as  it  could,  and  there  re- 
mained without  moving  from  these  semi-aquatic  quar- 
ters. By  stretching  its  neck  to  the  utmost,  and  rising 
upon  its  fore-feet,  its  nose  reached  just  above  the  shallow 
fihn  of  open  water,  and  1  suppose  that  it  occasionally  re- 
filled its  lungs  in  this  manner,  as  I  found  that  by  gently 
disturbing  it,  it  invariably  emitted  a  small  bubble  of  air. 
In  this  position,  and  with  only  so  much  exercise  as  the 
stretching  of  its  neck  afforded  it,  the  tortoise  remained 
for  thirty-four  days. 

I  then  placed  it  in  a  smaller  vessel  partly  fflled  with 
sphagnum,  and  moved  it  to  a  warmer  room.  So  long  as 
there  was  sufficient  water  to  enable  the  tortoise  to  keep 
submerged,  it  was  contented,  or  at  least  quiet.  As  soon 
as,  by  evaporation,  the  water  decreased  to  a  certain  point, 
the  restlessness  on  the  part  of  the  tortoise  indicated  dis- 
comfort ;  which  was  promptly  relieved  by  adding  more 
water  to  the  moss.  One  swallow  does  not  make  a  sum- 
mer, but  the  action  of  this  box-tortoise  leads  me  to  be- 
lieve that  when  so  young  that  their  under  and  upper 
,  shells  do  not  meet,  these  Chelonians  arc  more  aquatic 
than  terrestrial  in  their  habits. 

A  word  further  as  to  their  powers  of  withstanding  the 
rigors  of  winter.  That  they  hibernate  is  well  known ; 
but  they  do  not  get  beyond  the  reach  of  frost  when 


152  WASTE-LAND  WAXDEKINGS. 

tliey  burrow  into  the  earth,  nor  need  they,  if  all  are  as 
hardy  as  the  little  fellow  I  have  kept  so  long. 

January  13,  1886,  the  tortoise,  while  covered  with 
water  and  sphagnum,  was  solidly  frozen  in.  I  carefully 
chipped  him  loose  and  allowed  the  adherent  bits  of  ice 
to  thaw  very  slowly.  While  this  proceeded,  the  animal 
was  apparently  dead ;  but  the  disappearance  of  the  last 
particle  of  ice  was  synchronous  with  the  reappearance 
of  vitality.  This  freezing  was  repeated,  February  5th, 
and  with  like  results. 

Hereafter,  I  shall  go  to  the  swamps  for  young  box- 
tortoises  ;  nor  shall  I  be  surprised  if  in  winter  I  find 
them  incased  in  ice. 

The  strange  absence  of  katydids  caused  the  woods  and 
meadows  to  be  painfully  silent  as  I  hurried  home ;  yet 
it  was  a  silence  that  was  distinctly  audible,  the  air  being 
filled  with  the  trumpetings  of  a  million  atomies,  and  no 
one  distinguishable  voice. 

At  such  a  time  how  widely  awake  we  are !  The 
mere  snapping  of  a  twig  beneath  our  feet  thrills  the 
body  as  with  an  electric  shock.  It  is  a  feeling  vastly 
different  from  fear,  as  some  might  call  it.  Something 
more  tangible  than  the  soul  breaks  out  when  we  hear, 
"in  the  dwawm-like  silence  o'  a  glen,  the  sudden  soun'  o' 
a  trumpet."  Here  in  the  home-woods,  through  which 
glinted  the  sparkle  of  the  evening  lamp,  I  disturbed  my 
neighbor's  peacock. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  TWIN  ISLANDS. 

Passixg  by  my  neiglibor's  house,  on  my  way  to  the 
creek,  I  was  somewhat  startled  by  seeing  a  chah*  come 
tumMing  from  the  attic  window.  So  odd  an  occurrence 
drew  my  steps  in  that  direction.  The  inmates  of  this 
old  mansion,  I  learned,  were  "  cleaning  house,"  as  they 
called  it,  and  to  make  room  for  some  "  old  "  things — I 
use  their  word — were  pitching  out  of  the  lumber-room 
some  that  were  still  older. 

Luckily  I  was  there  in  time  to  stop  the  folly.  The 
discarded  chair,  I  grant,  was  not  worth  much,  and  could 
not,  in  safety,  have  supported  more  than  a  living  skele- 
ton ;  but  it  was  of  a  curious  ]3attern,  and  boasted  of  ar- 
tistic carving.  The  bushes  below  had  saved  it  from 
utter  destruction,  and  the  carved  back  and  clawed  feet 
will  some  day  be  utilized  in  a  wonderful  wooden  mantle 
I  have  long  had  in  contemplation. 

I  begged  the  privilege  of  a  look  in  that  old  garret  be- 
fore further  proceedings  were  undertaken  by  the  clean- 
ers, which  was  readily  granted. 

"  He  wants  to  ransack  the  garret  and  look  at  the  trash 
up  there,"  explained  the  daughter  of  the  house  to  her 
mother. 

"And  he'll  get  stung  by  the  wasps  for  his  trouble; 
7^ 


154  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

but  let  liim  go,  of  course,"  added  tlie  perhaps  not  over- 
pleased  mistress  of  tlie  old  farm-liouse. 

So  I  went ;  and  let  me  add  here,  if  any  who  read  this 
page  should  ever  go  on  a  similar  errand,  let  him  incase 
his  precious  cranium  with  a  metal  skull-cap.  The  old 
mansions  erected  in  the  past  century  were  built  to  stand, 
and  where  you  least  expect  to  find  tliem,  there  will  be 
massive  beams  that  are  not  to  be  left  unconsidered.  I 
entered,  witli  some  confidence,  one  of  the  dark  closets 
under  the  eaves,  and  nearly  decapitated  myself.  It 
seemed  several  moments  before  I  recovered  from  the 
shock,  and  meanwhile  wished  the  house,  from  turret  to 
foundation-stone,  in  Jericho.  Recovered  at  last,  with 
all  caution  and  no  confidence  I  crawled  in,  for  the  roof 
was  too  low  to  enable  any  other  position  to  be  assumed, 
and  when  my  eyes  became  adapted  to  the  dim  light, 
commenced  the  survey  of  the  dusty,  musty,  waspish  sur- 
roundings. The  old  lady  was  right.  Tiiere  were  wasps 
there ;  and  one  came  to  the  end  of  my  nose  and  rested 
quietly  thereon.  I  could  use  neither  hand  to  dislodge 
it,  and  I  wriggled  my  nose  until  my  wdiole  face  ached. 
The  wasp  liked  the  seesaw  motion  and  sat  still.  I  tried 
to  blow  it  off,  but  my  mustache  only  sootlied  his  wasp- 
6hi23,  and  he  stroked  each  particular  hair,  I  thought,  and 
sat  still.  Slowly,  then,  I  retraced  my  steps  to  the  door 
of  the  closet,  and  once  free,  sent  the  wasj)  spinning 
through  the  air.  It  returned  in  hot  liaste  —  terribly 
hot  to  my  bald  pate — and  I  started  to  retreat ;  but  no  ! 
I  shall  explore  that  garret,  I  vowed,  and  I  did. 

Again  on  all-fours  in  the  closet,  I  moved  towards  an 
old  trunk  at  the  most  distant  point ;  but  it  was  not  so 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  155 

accessible  as  I  thought.  Across  my  path  there  lay  an 
umbrella — and  such  a  one !  When  it  was  carried,  there 
Tvere  giants  in  those  days,  or  should  have  been.  A 
warming-pan,  once  silver-plated,  but  now  brown  with 
oxidation  of  the  copper  of  which  it  was  made,  came  next 
in  view,  and  then  a  set  of  window -shades,  something 
like  Venetian  blinds,  but  made  of  narrow  strips  securely 
held  by  hempen  cord  that  still  was  strong.  A  roll  of 
bed-curtain — this  I  captured — with  small  squares,  por- 
traying Old  Testament  scenes;  and  scattered  every- 
where, over  and  under  these,  were  old  boots,  shoes,  and 
knee -buckles;  and  best  of  all,  warped,  twisted,  curled- 
leaved  volumes — remnants  of  a  little  library  gathered  a 
century  ago.  As  best  I  could  I  brought  together  my 
umbrella,  bed -curtains,  and  what  books  I  could,  and 
backed  into  daylight.  I  had  seven  volumes  before  me, 
and  sat  down  by  the  little  window  to  inspect  them.  The 
first  was  a  rheumatic  specimen,  with  a  back  bent  in  all 
directions,  and  leaves  as  outstanding  as  the  fur  of  a  fu- 
rious cat.  After  some  search  I  found  the  title-page,  and 
read,  "  The  Journal  of  Thomas  Chalkley,  etc.,  etc.,"  and 
the  books  had  the  imprint  of  Benjamin  Franklin.  "  This 
will  do  for  a  beginning;"  and  I  laid  it  upon  the  bed- 
curtains  ;  but  it  would  not  lie  flat.  The  next  was  a  lit- 
tle duodecimo,  or  smaller,  and  alas !  I  saw  at  a  glance, 
was  marked  Yol.  II.  I  turned  to  the  title-page,  for  the 
title  on  the  back  was  gone,  and  read,  "  History  of  Louisi- 
ana, etc.,  Le  Sage  Du  Pratz."  Was  it  possible  the  other 
volume  was  gone?  A  glance  at  the  books  beside  me 
showed  it  was  not  there.  If  the  gloomy  corners  of  the 
garret  closets  must  be  again  ransacked,  so  let  it  be — that 


156  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

missing  volume  must  he  bronglit  to  light.  Again  I 
crawled  in,  in  spite  of  wasps,  spiders,  and  millipeds,  all 
of  which  took  mj  presence  grudgingly.  I  searched  as 
thoroughly  as  practicable,  and  was  about  to  return — for 
no  book  of  that  size  could  be  found — when  a  glittering 
object,  like  a  coin,  attracted  my  attention.  It  was  a 
pewter  button  on  an  old  coat ;  and  I  saw  then  that  a 
double  row  of  them  graced  the  front  of  the  garment.  I 
brought  the  coat  into  daylight,  and  for  the  moment  for- 
got the  missing  volume  of  Du  Pratz.  It  was  such  a 
garment  as  I  have  seen  in  pictures  and  nowhere  else. 
Besides  the  two  rows  of  buttons  down  the  front,  there 
were  three  on  each  of  the  great  flaps  covering  the  side- 
pockets,  and  three  more  on  each  of  the  wide-spreading 
pocketed  tails.  Forty  metal  buttons  on  a  coat !  I  held 
it  aloft  by  the  shoulders  and  gazed  admiringly ;  then 
laying  it  down,  I  proceeded  to  explore  its  capacious 
pockets.  In  one  of  them  was  the  missing  volume  of 
Du  Pratz !  I  pinched  myself  to  see  if  it  was  I.  Was 
it  not  a  dream  ?  'No,  there  was  the  coveted  book,  and 
with  a  sio;h  of  relief  I  sat  down. 

I  made  a  third  attempt  to  get  a  knowledge  of  what 
the  closet  contained,  and  particularly  coveted  an  exam- 
ination of  an  old  trunk,  but  before  I  reached  it,  became 
tangled  in  a  maze  of  sj)inning-wheels  which  I  had  hith- 
erto escaped.  My  arms  somehow  w^ere  slipped  in  wheels 
of  different  machines,  and  to  dislodge  them  was  no  easy 
matter.  They  resented  by  revolving  to  the  full  extent 
of  the  elasticity  of  my  arms.  It  w^as  a  tria,l  of  botli 
nerve  and  patience ;  but  with  one  frantic  effort  I  got 
through,  and  reached  the  great  black  box,  hide-bound, 


THE  TWIX  ISLANDS.  157 

and  ornamented  witli  rows  of  what  liad  been  sliininir, 
brass-lieaded  tacks.  I  attempted  to  raise  tlie  lid,  but  tlie 
hinges  \vere  gone,  and  it  slid  back  in  an  accommodating 
manner.  The  trunk  was  full  of  books !  A  slender 
thread  of  light  kindly  illumined  the  spot  as  I  slowly 
deciphered  the  title-pages.  Kine  in  every  ten  ^vere 
Bibles  or  fragments  of  Bibles  ;  but  nearly  at  the  bottom 
of  the  trunk  was  an  uninjured  co])j  of  La  Ilontan's 
"  Travels  in  America." 

Had  I  been  in  the  woods,  I  should  have  danced ;  had 
I  been  in  a  solitude,  have  shouted ;  but  in  a  beseeming 
manner,  I  demurely  walked  down-stairs  with  my  coat, 
umbrella,  bed-curtains,  and  books.  I  offered  payment, 
which  was  declined,  and  taking  my  neighbor's  ridicule 
in  good  part,  passed  on  with  my  antiquated  burden. 

IIow  apt  we  are,  when  once  a  locality  is  associated 
with  some  unusual  incident,  to  continue  to  half  expect 
a  repetition  of  it  whenever  we  draw  near.  As  I  ap- 
proached a  pond-like  expansion  of  a  meadow  brook,  I 
found  myself  taking  shorter  and  more  cautious  steps,  as 
though  it  were  probable  that  another  Florida  gallinule 
w^ould  be  seen  when  I  reached  the  bank  of  the  weedy 
stream.     I  saw  one  here  more  than  twent}^  years  ago. 

This  bird  is  one  of  a  considerable  list  that  has  almost 
wholly  forsaken  the  Crosswicks  meadows.  The  bird 
was  new  to  me  then,  and  with  what  unbounded  delight 
I  gazed  upon  it.  I  could  have  sat  all  day  and  watched 
it.  Luckilv,  I  was  not  seen,  and  crouchinii^  in  the  tall 
grass,  where  I  could  command  a  good  view,  I  sat  as 
nearly  motionless  as  possible.    The  gallinule  was  wading 


158  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

in  water  about  three  inclies  deep,  and  at  every  step  ap- 
peared to  lift  one  foot  quite  above  the  surface  and  curl 
up  the  toes;  then  taking  as  great  a  stride  as  possible, 
plunged  the  foot,  with  the  toes  still  curled,  into  the  wa- 
ter. At  every  third  or  fourth  stej),  tlie  bird  stopped 
and  thrust  its  bill  beneath  the  surface,  and  I  suppose, 
judging  from  the  subsequent  motion,  secured  some  mor- 
sel of  food.  While  I  watched,  the  bird  appeared  to  be 
feeding  only  uj)on  objects  found  on  the  bottom  of  the 
pool,  and  not  at  all  from  the  rank  vegetation  that  skirted 
the  shores. 

It  had  also  another  curious  habit.  At  almost  every 
other  step  the  head  would  be  thrown  back  until  the 
occiput  rested  upon  the  shoulders,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment the  wings  were  lifted  slightly,  as  though  the  bird 
was  about  to  fly. 

At  length,  much  to  my  annoyance,  it  was  alarmed  by 
a  noisy  troop  of  crows  that  swooped  down  near  by,  and 
flying  directly  over  me,  discovered  my  retreat.  There 
was  no  reason  to  think  it  would  ever  return,  so  I  shot  it. 

The  purple  gallinule,  sometimes  met  with  on  the 
Crosswicks  meadows,  is  quite  as  rare  as  the  preceding ; 
but  their  recurrence  nearer  the  sea-coast  has  been  fre- 
quently recorded,  nor  are  they  always  found  during  the 
summer  months. 

I  should  be  glad  to  know  why  this  stream  is  so  crook- 
ed. The  alluvial  flats  through  which  it  flows  are  very 
uniform  in  their  composition ;  and  unless  lodged  trees, 
borne  hither  and  thither  by  freshets,  have  been  the  cause, 
there  is  nothing  to  show  why  the  creek  is  not  almost  a 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  159 

straight  line,  instead  of  being  as  tortuous  as  a  writhing 

serpent. 

That  it  has  changed  its  course  for  many  a  rod,  even  in 
historic  times,  there  is  evidence  in  maps  attached  to  old 
deeds.  That  it  was  equally  erratic  in  prehistoric  times 
is  also  demonstrable,  but  not  with  so  little  labor.  In 
several  tracts  of  the  lower  lying  meadows  ancient  chan- 
nels can  still  be  traced,  and  when  ditches  have  been 
cut,  I  have  gathered  many  a  curious  relic  of  the  Ind- 
ians, left  upon  what  was  the  bank  of  the  stream,  centu- 
ries ago. 

Where  I  have  found  relics  of  the  Indians,  I  have  long 
hoped  to  find  the  skeleton  of  a  mastodon,  or  at  least 
isolated  bones  of  the  creature.  Yery  possibly  I  may 
never  make  such  a  discovery,  yet  there  is  no  inherent 
improbability  in  the  matter.  Bones  of  the  mastodon 
have  been  found  on  these  meadows.  My  grandfather 
picked  up  a  humerus,  within  a  few  rods  of  where  I  saw 
the  gallinule,  and  the  specimen  was  long  in  Peale's  Phil- 
adelphia museum. 

There  has  been  an  astonishing  amount  of  twaddle 
written  concerning  the  subject  of  the  contemporaneity 
of  man  and  the  mastodon  in  this  country.  It  would  be 
just  as  rational  to  question  man's  sharing  the  primitive 
forests  with  the  elk  and  cougar. 

My  friend  Dr.  Lockwood  told  us  the  story  years  ago 
in  a  few  telling  words.  He  wrote  :  "  It  is  plain  that  the 
mastodon  came  into  what  is  now  New  Jersey  ere  the 
ice-sheet  began.  It  receded  south  before  it.  It  followed 
the  thawing  northward,  and  so  again  possessed  the  land. 
It  occupied  this  part  of  the  country  when  its  shore-line 


160  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

was  miles  farther  out  to  sea  than  it  is  to-daj.  Here  it 
was  confronted  bj  the  human  savage,  in  whom  it  found 
more  than  its  match ;  for  before  this  autochthonic  Mm- 
rod  behemoth  melted  awaj." 

Here  we  have  not  only  the  truth,  but  have  it  in  a  nut- 
shell ;  something  refreshing  in  these  days  of  prolixity. 
I  have  but  one  criticism  to  offer  concerning  these  ad- 
mirable sentences.  If  by  "  autochthonic  Kimrod  "  our 
author  refers  to  that  primitive  man  of  the  great  ice  age — 
palseolithic  man — the  ancestor  of  the  Eskimo,  who  also 
antedated  the  Indian  here,  and  supposes  that  the  mas- 
todon died  out  with  these  earlier  folks,  then  I  dissent. 
If  the  last  mastodon  in  I^ew  Jersey  died  by  the  hand  of 
man,  it  was  the  hand  of  a  Delaware  Indian  that  slew 
him ;  if  he  sank  helplessly  in  some  quicksand,  while 
wandering  over  these  meadows,  then  these  later  Ind- 
ians knew  it  well,  and  told  of  the  unhaj^py  fate  of  the 
lonely  beast,  generation  unto  generation.  Certainly  not 
a  score  of  centuries  have  passed  since  the  shrill  trumj^et- 
ing  of  the  mastodon  awoke  the  echoes  of  our  primeval 
woods. 

Scarcely  a  rod  from  my  neighbor's  corduroy  road, 
over  which,  in  July,  the  hay-laden  wagons  creak  omi- 
nously, is  an  ugly  area  of  quicksand. 

When  Mink,  a  locally  celebrated  duck-shooter  of  the 
last  century,  got  caught  in  it,  he  remarked,  as  soon  as 
extricated,  "  The  Lord  left  the  materials  of  a  good  coun- 
try about  here  and  forgot  'em,  so  the  devil  did  the  mix- 
in'."  This  covers  the  ground  completely — I  am  glad  the 
quicksands  do  not — for  good  in  their  way  as  are  sand 


TUB  TWIN  ISLANDS.  ICl 

and  water,  one  does  not  want  tliem  mixed  in  such  con- 
sistency. 

The  difference,  so  far  as  tliese  meadows  are  concerned, 
between  a  "  boiling  "  spring  and  a  "  quicksand,"  is  one 
of  dimension  only ;  one  being  an  intermitting,  upward 
movement  of  a  narrow  column  of  water,  bearing  an  in- 
significant amount  of  sand  ;  the  other  a  far  greater  bulk 
of  water,  so  charged  with  sand  that  its  movement  is  very 
deliberate :  a  spring  is  seldom  more  than  a  yard  in  di- 
ameter ;  a  quicksand  may  extend  over  an  area  of  sev- 
eral square  rods.  The  fact  that  the  temperature  of 
the  water  in  either  case  is  always  the  same,  52'^  Fahr., 
shows  that  springs  and  quicksands  do  not  materially  dif- 
fer except  in  size. 

The  danger  attendant  upon  personal  exploration  of 
these  quicksand  areas,  and  a  natural  repugnance  due  to 
an  adventure  to  be  related  hereafter,  has  deterred  me 
from  any  extensive  survey,  and  only  one  of  them,  two 
miles  or  more  back  from  the  creek,  but  in  this  valley, 
has  been  carefully  examined.  For  years  my  neighbors 
have  insisted  that  this  particular  quicksand  is  a  verita- 
ble bottomless  pit.  To  satisfy  them  I  took  a  ten-pound 
lead,  well  greased,  and  brought  up  stiff  clay  from  a 
depth  of  eighteen  feet,  and  think  I  learned  the  difficulty 
about  sounding  the  quicksand's  depth,  so  far  as  my  neigh- 
bors are  concerned.  Not  one  of  them  but  admitted  he 
had  never  used  any  other  means  of  measurement  than  a 
fence-rail.  As  these  are  either  twelve  or  sixteen  feet 
in  length,  it  is  not  at  all  strange  my  neighbors'  never 
reached  bottom.  And  this  holds  good  not  only  with 
quicksands.    How  often  it  happens  that  they  use  but 


162  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

one  probe  in  investigating  the  tilings  of  this  life,  and 
content  themselves  with  the  belief  that  there  is  no  bot- 
tom, because  they  fail  to  reach  it. 

Marvellous  stories  were  told  of  this  quicksand  or  huge 
boiling  spring  by  many  old  residents.  One,  current  in 
my  childhood,  was  to  the  effect  that  a  dozen  sheep  were 
caught  in  its  troubled  waters  and  sucked  out  of  sight, 
and  nine  of  them  turned  up  alive  on  Duck  Island  in  the 
river  about  noon  of  the  next  day.  Think  of  it!  For 
more  than  a  day  tossed  in  the  depths  of  a  deep  spring, 
carried  half  a  mile  tlirough  a  subterranean  passage,  and 
landed  upon  an  island  alive !  This  was  not  told  as  a  bit 
of  fun  to  excite  the  wonder  of  children,  but  as  a  sober 
fact ;  and  so  firmly  grounded  was  the  belief  that  these 
quicksands  v/ere  wellnigh  fathomless,  that  every  state- 
ment made  concerning  them,  however  absurd,  was  readi- 
ly accepted  as  further  evidence  of  their  wonderful  char- 
acter. My  own  experience  with  quicksands  is  too  full 
of  horror  to  be  related,  at  least  I  shudder  when  I  recall 
a  sunny  summer  afternoon  of  long  ago.  I  stood  upon 
a  patch  of  quaking  grass,  pleased  with  its  elastic  yield- 
ing and  too  intent  upon  watching  a  pair  of  nesting  finches 
to  realize  that  I  was  slowly  sinking.  At  last  I  noticed 
that  my  eyes  were  gradually  approaching  the  horizon 
of  the  low-built  nest,  and  looking  about  and  beneath  me, 
saw  the  treacherous  waters  creeping  above  the  matted 
weeds  upon  which  I  stood.  The  latter  were  trembling 
more  and  more  violently,  and  the  fearful  truth  was  plain. 
I  was  over  a  quicksand. 

I  had  a  double  task  to  perform,  and  that  right  quick- 
ly— avoid  fright  and  reach  terra  firma  ;  but  how  ?     But 


THE  TWIX  ISLANDS.  163 

one  chance  of  escape  appeared  to  offer,  to  distribute  my 
weight,  and  at  once  I  stooped  and  struck  out,  as  though 
swimming.  The  theory  was  good,  but  not  the  applica- 
tion in  this  instance,  for  wliat  I  gained  by  the  greater 
upholding  power  of  additional  vegetation  under  me  was 
lost  by  my  violence,  and  I  broke  through  the  raft  of 
weeds  upon  which  I  depended.  In  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  in  the  fraction  of  a  second,  I  lived  a  lifetime. 

I  have  i^ositive  knowledge  of  nothing  beyond  this 
moment.  I  can  only  judge  from  the  appearance  of  the 
tangled  grass  and  weeds  that  my  convulsive  efforts  to 
reach  the  meadow  were  finally  successful.  Once  fairly 
beyond  danger,  my  strength  failed  me  and  I  fainted. 

The  clay  that  constitutes  the  "hard-pan"  of  these 
meadows,  crops  out  here  and  there  along  the  bluff  that 
extends  for  miles  parallel  to  the  river.  It  is  a  tough 
dark-blue  deposit,  occasionally  streaked  with  red,  yellow, 
and  pure  white  veins  that  are  less  tenacious.  The  blue 
clay  is  interesting  in  that  it  contains  much  fossil-wood, 
some  amber,  and  an  abundance  of  iron  pyrites. 

Let  ns  consider  these  separately.  The  vrood  is  not 
petrified,  and  still  retains  so  much  of  its  original  condi- 
tion that,  when  dry,  it  burns  with  a  feeble  flame  and 
emits  a  pleasing  aromatic  odor.  Dr.  Cook,  our  efficient 
State  geologist,  describing  another  but  similar  clay-bed, 
remarks :  "  Trunks  and  branches  of  trees  are  everywhere 
to  be  found.  ...  In  opening  some  of  the  clay-pits,  cart- 
loads of  them  might  be  saved.  They  have  the  structure 
of  the  wood,  and  the  form,  except  that  they  are  consid- 
erably flattened ;  sticks  lying  horizontal  and  two  inches 


164  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

broad,  may  be  only  from  a  half  inch  to  an  inch  thick. 
The  wood  is  of  a  dark-brown  color,  and  quite  brittle. .  . . 
When  exposed  to  the  air  and  dried,  it  cracks  across  or 
splits  up  into  small  fragments.  Lumps  of  iron  pyrites 
are  found  in  the  larger  pieces,  and  it  is  very  common  to 
find  the  smaller  sticks  surrounded  by  knots  and  rings  of 
the  same  substance.  Some  of  the  trees  are  quite  large, 
two  or  three  feet  in  diameter."  There  has  been  discov- 
ered, in  one  instance,  "  the  trunk  of  a  tree  that  was  four 
feet  in  diameter,"  which  as  the  clay  was  removed  proved 
to  be  ninety-three  feet  in  length,  and  ten  inches  in  diam- 
eter at  the  top.  Dr.  Cook  further  states,  that  "  the  wood 
has  not  been  examined  microscopically;  but  from  the 
leaves  found,  from  the  bark,  and  from  the  rings  of  an- 
nual growth,  the  evidence  is  conclusive  that  the  age  of 
broad-leaved  j^lants  was  then  begun."  Dr.  Cook  makes 
no  mention  of  the  occurrence  of  amber  in  this  clay,  but 
refers  to  it  as  a  "  mineral  .  .  .  found  irregularly  distrib- 
uted in  all  parts  of  the  marl  region ;"  and  adds, "  from 
its  resemblance  to  resin  it  naturally  attracts  the  attention 
of  workmen,  and  becomes  the  subject  of  their  experi- 
ments, and  is  burned  up.  Specimens  have  been  seen 
from  marl-pits  in  every  county  of  the  region,  but  there 
is  no  certainty  of  finding  other  specimens  in  the  same 
localities.  Pieces  enough  to  have  filled  a  barrel  are  said 
to  have  been  taken  from  one  marl-pit  at  Shark  River 
about  twelve  years  ago ;  but  since  that,  in  looking  over 
many  hundred  tons  of  marl  there,  not  a  fragment  was 
found." 

It  occurs  in  the  clay  near  here,  associated  with  the 
fossil-wood,  and  as  little  pebbles,  in  the  bed  of  the  creek. 


THE  TWIN  ISLxVNDS.  165 

Do  not  expect  to  find  it,  however.  The  search  will 
prove  like  that  of  Dr.  Cook  at  the  Shark  River  marl- 
pits.  It  has  been  found,  and  will  be  again  and  again, 
but  only  by  mere  chance  will  you  come  across  a  speci- 
men of  it. 

I  do  not  know  that  the  Quaker  settlers  ever  believed 
that  gold  would  be  found  near  here,  but  the  Swedes  did. 
Here  is  a  story  from  Campanius's  quaint  account  of  Xew 
Sweden,  as  Jersey  was  then  called :  '*  Lindstrom  .  .  .  as- 
serts that  there  is  a  great  quantity  of  gold,  and  relates  a 
fact  in  support  of  his  assertion,  which  happened  in  the 
time  of  the  Swedish  governor,  John  Printz,  and  is  as 
follows  :  ^  Once  an  American  Indian  went  to  pay  a  visit 
to  the  said  governor,  and  observing  that  his  wife  had  a 
gold  ring  on  her  finger,  asked  her  why  she  wore  about 
her  such  paltry  stuff ;  w^hich,  the  governor  hearing,  he 
asked  the  Indian  if  he  could  procure  him  any  of  it,  and 
said  that,  if  he  did,  he  would  make  him  very  fine  pres- 
ents ;  to  which  the  Indian  replied  that  he  would,  for  he 
knew  a  mountain  that  was  full  of  it.  The  governor 
then  showed  him  cloth  of  various  colors,  with  lead,  gun- 
powder, mirrors,  and  several  other  things,  and  said  to 
him,  ^'I  will  give  you  all  these  if  you  will  get  me  a  piece 
of  that  stuff  as  a  specimen.  I  will  send  two  of  my  men 
with  you  to  get  it,"  but  the  Indian  would  not  consent  to 
that.  "  I  will,"  said  he,  "  go  first  and  bring  you  a  speci- 
men, and  then  it  will  be  time  to  send  somebody  with 
me."  Some  days  after  he  returned,  and  brought  a  piece 
of  ore  as  large  as  two  fists,  which  the  said  governor 
caused  to  be  assayed,  and  found  it  contained  much  gold, 


166  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

out  of  wliicli  lie  had  rino^s  and  bracelets  made.  He  then 
asked  the  Indian  to  take  some  men  with  him,  which  he 
promised  to  do,  but  had  not  time  at  that  moment ;  he 
would,  however,  return  in  a  few  days  and  bring  some 
more  gold.  But  afterwards  meeting  with  other  Indians, 
he  beo^an  to  boast  of  what  he  had  received  from  the 
governor,  on  which  they  asked  him  what  he  had  given 
for  it,  Avhich  being  informed  of,  tliey  put  him  to  death, 
in  order  that  the  place  should  remain  unknown,  fearing 
that  its  discovery  might  occasion  to  them  some  mischief ; 
and  so  the  gold  mountain  was  never  discovered,' "  and 
never  will  be. 

With  this  I  leave  the  minerals  in  the  blufE  that 
guards,  and  the  bed  that  sustains,  the  waters  of  the 
creek,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  come  back  to  the  pretty 
creatures  that  dwell  in  the  stream  itself. 

Wherever  the  clear,  cool  waters  of  a  hill-side  spring 
enter  the  creek,  there  many  minnows  of  many  kinds  are 
sure  to  congregate.  At  one  such  spot  I  was  attracted 
by  the  great  gathering  of  blunt-headed  minnows,  the 
many  barred  cyprinodont  that  throngs  every  stream 
from  Maine  to  Florida,  or  nearly  so.  Ordinarily  I  should 
have  passed  them  by,  but  some  individuals  seemed  dif- 
ferent, even  at  a  considerable  distance,  and  I  leaned  over 
the  boat  to  view  them  more  closely.  A  large  percent- 
age were  darker  in  color,  with  broader  transverse  bars, 
and  prominent  in  that  the  dorsal  fin  was  beautifully 
marked  with  a  blue -black  spot,  encircled  with  clear, 
opaque  white.  After  much  effort,  with  an  improvised 
net,  I  caj)tured  a  number  of  them,  and  found,  to  my  de- 
light, that  they  were  the  "ornamented  minnow"  of  Le 


THE  TWIX  ISLANDS.  167 

Siieur,  described  by  liim  nearly  seventy  years  ago.  I 
tliouirlit  I  had  seen  all  the  fishes  of  the  Delaware  Eiver 
and  its  tributaries,  but  here  was  one  that  had  escaped  me. 

Such  an  incident  as  this  is  of  far  more  importance 
than  the  fact  of  finding  a  fish  I  had  not  previously  met 
with;  it  leads  me  to  hope  that  other  novelties  are  in 
store,  and  while  I  live  I  shall  never  take  a  ramble  and 
return  empty-handed ;  but  perhaps  better  so  than  over- 
burdened. 

A  captious  critic  has  said,  "  lie  sees  too  much."  It 
is  true,  sights  and  sounds  crowd  upon  each  other  until 
I  am  bewildered.  Could  I  have  seen  less,  I  should  have 
learned  more.  I  have  never  dared  to  recount  the  ad- 
ventures of  a  single  day.  The  sleepiest  twenty -four 
hours  of  the  year  is  more  exciting  than  a  battle-field,  if 
one  has  the  will  to  use  his  eyes  and  ears.  1  have  seen 
too  much.  Alas!  it  is  the  one  fact  that  saddens  me, 
-wherever  I  ramble. 

Scarcely  had  I  disposed  of  my  burdens  and  pushed 
from  shore  than  I  was  in  sight  of  the  goal  of  to-day's 
journey.  The  tide  being  with  me,  I  was  soon  beyond 
the  lone  ash -leaved  maple  that  stands  upon  a  little 
"  point  no-point,"  and  the  pretty  fringing  of  attractive 
shores,  where  wild-rice  luxuriates  in  all  its  beauty.  I 
feel  the  muddy  bottom  with  the  blade  of  my  oars,  I 
hear  the  soft  sicish  of  the  prow  as  it  ploughs  the  clus- 
tered yellow  dock — I  am  at  the  Twin  Islands. 

Here  are  two  small  islands,  together  forming  but  a 
small  fraction  of  an  acre,  yet  each  with  features  pecul- 
iarly its  own.     The  one  boasting  of  a  single  willow  and 


168  WASTE-LAND  WAXDERIXGS. 

a  wilderness  of  weeds ;  tlie  other,  a  tall  asli,  a  dwarfed 
maple,  and  a  garden  that,  excluding  all  else,  grows  in 
wildest  luxuriance  a  golden  bloom,  tlie  beautiful  Ile- 
lenium  aiitumnale. 

Whenever  I  come  down  the  creek,  I  am  tempted  to 
draw  up  to  the  lone  willow  of  the  upper  island,  for  to 
tarry  there  an  hour,  ay  or  for  a  day,  is  no  hardship. 
For  me,  it  is  not  to  be 

"Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs," 

but  rather  in  the  shadow  of  joyous  branches,  glittering 
with  light  and  tremulous  with  the  airy  steps  of  many 
birds ;  nor,  once  here,  do  I 

"Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time." 

I  may,  perhaps,  neglect  to  mechanically  count  the 
hours  as  they  pass,  but  then,  why  should  I  ?  Tarrying 
here  can  never  be  accounted  a  loss  of  time.  I  always 
bear  hence  something  to  con  over  in  the  years  to  come 
— reap  a  fair  harvest  of  food  for  thought. 

Is  there  not  much  idle  talk  about  losing  time  ?  "Who 
is  appointed  among  us  to  say  this  of  his  fellows  ? 

He  who,  as  the  result  of  a  meditative  life,  gives  a 
single  useful  hint  to  his  fellows,  has  accomplished  more 
than  any  mere  accumulator  of  a  fortune.  Surely  it  was 
better  for  us  that  Thoreau  ceased  to  be  a  pencil-maker, 
and  gave  to  the  world  "  Walden  "  and  "  The  Week." 

To  the  poor  toilers  of  the  crowded  town,  who  could 
not  come  hither  without  bringing  thoughts  of  their  ledg- 
ers and  the  state  of  trade,  it  might  be  a  loss  of  time, 
but  even  such  unfortunates  should  place  some  value  on 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  169 

tlie  pure  air  that  has  entered  their  lungs,  and  count  that 
something  of  an  offset  to  their  "  loss  of  time." 

Herein  lies  one  merit  of  Twin -island  Eend ;  we  are 
out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  man's  industry.  Nature, 
ever  busy  in  her  own  wise  wny,  has  the  region  wholly 
to  herself,  and  I  encroach  upon  her  domain  merely  as  an 
eager  spectator. 

As  I  rested,  still  sitting  in  the  weed-surrounded  boat, 
I  looked  down  the  opening  in  the  rank  growth  of  aquat- 
ic plants  made  by  the  skiff,  and  saw  upon  the  oj^posite 
shore  a  common  rail-bird,  or  sora.  The  popular  idea  of 
this  curious  bird  is  that  of  a  morsel  of  tender  flesh,  that 
conveniently  awaits  slaughter,  late  in  September,  after 
some  weeks  of  fattening  on  the  seeds  of  the  wild-rice. 
But  the  sora  is  something  else.  It  is  a  bird  that  puzzles 
every  one  who  closely  follows  it.  That  many  settle  in 
the  valley  of  the  Delaware  during  the  sj)ring  migration 
is  unquestionable;  they  do  not,  however,  remain  and  nest 
here,  as  I  supposed,  but  passing  on,  leave  us  until  the 
middle  of  August,  sometimes  earlier,  and  then  remain 
until  the  frosts  of  October  drive  them  away.  My  im- 
pression that  they  nested  here  arose  not  merely  from 
the  fact  of  finding  them  in  May  and  August,  but  the 
nests  of  the  little  black  rail  were  occasionally  found,  and 
attributed  to  the  wrong  species.  I  am  glad  to  be  able 
to  record  this  fact,  as  it  gives  us  an  additional  species. 

Considering  them  collectively,  we  have  then  the  fol- 
lowing species :  the  king-rail,  the  Virginia,  the  sora,  the 
little  yellow,  and  the  still  smaller  black  rail.     In  the  or- 
der of  their  abundance,  of  course,  the  sora  leads,  and  to 
8 


170  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

the  ornithologist  interest  centres  in  it,  early  in  its  sea- 
son, before  persecuted  by  dogs  and  gunners.  Probably 
one  reason  why  so  seldom  seen,  and  so  difficult  to  flush, 
is  that  it  is  more  crepuscular  than  diurnal  in  its  habits. 
The  structure  of  its  eyes  may  not  suggest  this,  but  I 
have  often  noticed  its  voluntary  apj^earance  upon  the 
open  mud -flats  an  hour  or  more  after  sundown,  and 
seen  them  during  moonlit  nights  continually  rise  above 
the  reeds,  and,  flying  a  short  distance,  drop  again  from 
view.  They  fly,  too,  across  the  Delaware  and  across 
this  creek  far  more  frequently  at  night  than  during  the 
day. 

Like  the  smaller  yellow  and  black  rail-birds,  the  sora 
has  a  cry  that  is  j)eculiar  in  its  marked  resemblance  to 
the  rattle  of  our  green  frog,  Raiia  clamitans.  The  voice 
of  the  king-rail,  on  the  other  hand,  is  very  different,  and 
rather  musical.  It  suggests  the  tapping  of  a  hammer 
upon  an  anvil.  A  muflled,  metallic  ringing,  perhaps  in- 
telligibly expressed  by  the  following :  Ke-link  -  kiiik ; 
kink-kink-kink. 

For  several  summers  king-rails,  perhaps  but  a  single 
pair,  have  nested  in  a  bit  of  marshy  meadow  near  my 
home,  and  the  summer  long,  all  day,  and  often  at  night, 
its  cry  could  be  heard.  A  word  more  concerning  the 
rail -birds  of  the  Crosswicks  valley,  and  of  the  nobler 
valley  of  the  river  beyond,  for  there  are  other  and  more 
extensive  areas  of  marsh,  where  these  birds  congregate 
in  far  greater  numbers  than  here.  Dr.  Turnbull  writes 
of  an  European  species :  "  The  Corn-crake.  A  specimen 
shot  at  Salem  is  now  in  the  collection  of  the  Academy 
of  Science  (Philadelphia).    Another  was  procured  near 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  171 

Bordentown,  New  Jersey,  by  Mr.  John  Kridcr.  It  is 
known  as  a  summer  visitant  to  Greenland."  Kow,  as  Mr. 
Krider  shot  a  corn-crake  on  the  shore  of  this  creek,  with- 
in a  few  miles  of  Twin-island  Bend,  why  should  not  oth- 
ers ?  It  is  far  more  probable  that  a  dozen  migrated  from 
Greenland,  or  came  directly  across  the  Atlantic,  than 
one;  and  one  old  English  gunner,  familiar  with  the  bird 
for  years,  assured  me  he  had  heard  them  on  our  mead- 
ows, but  never  had  seen  one.  The  truth  is,  a  hundred 
of  them  might  be  killed  by  our  professional  gunners, 
and  not  one  come  to  the  notice  of  an  ornithologist. 

Passing  from  the  upper  to  the  lower  and  larger  isl- 
and, I  landed  near  its  two  small  trees,  that  from  their 
branches,  into  which  I  climbed,  I  might  survey  to  ad- 
vantage the  rank  growth  of  sneeze-weed  that  covered 
the  entire  area  to  the  water's  edge. 

There  was  absolutely  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  tremu- 
lous mass  of  brightest,  unstained  yellow.  It  was  much 
like  looking  at  the  noonday  sun  through  misty  specta- 
cles. Every  blossom,  like  the  buttercups,  had  "  caught 
the  sun  in  its  chalice,"  and  bees  of  every  variety  thronged 
the  gilded  forest. 

The  busy  myriads  of  tuneful  honey-hunters,  indeed, 
added  a  charm  to  the  novel  scene,  and  their  mingled 
voices,  pitched  upon  every  conceivable  key,  was  much 
like  the  uncertain  melody  of  an  ^olian  harp. 

While  watching  and  listening,  I  was  surprised  to  find 
how  remarkably  free  from  molestation  by  birds  were 
these  bees.  They  hovered  over  this  shimmering  sea  of 
golden  bloom,  always  in  plain  sight,  yet  the  birds,  many 
of  them  true  flycatchers  at  that,  kept  quite  aloof.     I 


172  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

saw  several  kingbirds  in  tlie  branches  of  the  trees  on  the 
creek  bank,  and  heard  the  harsh  screaming  of  the  great 
crested  flj^catcher.  Others  of  the  tribe  were  heard,  and 
one  wood-peewee  came  from  the  woods  and  perched 
directly  above  me. 

Perhaps,  when  purple  martens  were  abundant,  we  had 
professional  bee-eaters  among  us,  but  of  this  I  am  by  no 
means  certain.  Dr.  Brewer  calls  the  kingbird  a  "  bee 
martin,"  and  has  much  to  say  of  their  being  a  pest  where 
honey  is  a  desideratum  of  the  farmers. 

'No  kingbird,  while  I  was  there,  saw  fit  once  to  capt- 
ure a  bee,  or  even  to  fly  among  them.  If  they  do 
so,  how  can  we  be  sure  it  is  a  bee  that  is  captured  ? 
Other  insects  swarm  in  the  same  localities,  as  I  found 
to-day,  and  might  not  these  be  sought  as  food,  in  prefer- 
ence to  the  busy  honej^-gatherers  ?  Wilson  went  so  far 
as  to  say  that  the  kingbirds  fed  only  upon  drones ;  but 
is  it  likely  that  a  kingbird's  vision  is  sufiiciently  acute 
to  recognize  drones  from  workers  when  they  are  flying? 

I  have  found  more  than  one  bee-tree  in  my  rambles, 
and  always  have  looked  out  for  bee-eating  birds  in  their 
vicinity,  but  the  kingbirds  do  not  frequent  the  forests 
much ;  and  the  great  crested  flycatcher,  although  much 
more  of  a  forest -dwelling  species,  never  appeared  to 
haunt  the  neighborhood  of  bee -trees.  Kingbirds,  no 
doubt,  are  willing  to  feed  on  bees,  but  that  they  prefer 
them  to  other  forms  of  insect  life  is  probably  too  rash  a 
statement. 

It  was  not  far  from  here,  in  April,  1872,  that  a  beauti- 
ful scissor-tail  flycatcher  was  taken.  It  was  a  male,  in 
full  health  and  feather,  weighing  two  and  one-half  ounces 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  173 

avoirdnpoi?,  and  measuring  tliirtccn  and  onc-lialf  inches 
from  the  tip  of  the  beak  to  tlic  extremity  of  the  taih 
The  bird,  when  shot,  was  busily  engaged  in  j^icking 
semi-dormant  insects  from  the  bark  of  trees — creeping 
about  very  much  after  the  manner  of  a  brown  tree- 
creeper,  and  all  the  while  opening  and  shutting  the  long 
scissor-like  tail.  The  stomach  proved  to  be  full  of  small 
beetles,  and  remains  of  other  kinds  of  insects. 

This  is  the  only  specimen  of  this  southern  species 
known  to  have  been  taken  so  far  north.  Dr.  Brewer 
quotes  Dr.  TurnbuU  as  an  authority  for  the  capture  of 
other  specimens,  but  the  latter  does  not  mention  the 
bird.  The  allied  fork-tailed  flycatcher  has  been  twice 
found  here,  and  to  these  TurnbuU  does  refer. 

It  is  of  some  interest  to  know  that  when  this  rare 
bird  was  taken  the  weather  was  chill v,  and  the  season 
was  unusually  cold  and  backward.  It  would  be  easier 
to  account  for  the  presence  of  this  bird  had  the  season 
been  far  advanced,  or  had  a  southerly  wind  or  storm  pre- 
vailed at  the  time  and  for  a  few  days  previously,  but  the 
very  opposite  of  this  had  been  the  case. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  watch  during  the  year  the 
movements  of  birds  as  rare  as  this,  when  they  happen  to 
Vv^ander  so  far  from  their  proper  habitat.  Could  a  pair 
of  such  stragglers  be  left  alone,  is  it  not  probable  that 
they  would  breed  here,  and  in  so  doing  lead  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  race  of  summer  migrants  ?  Perhaps,  if 
they  once  regained  their  southern  home,  they  would  stay, 
but  I  should  like  to  have  a  few  such  stragglers  spared, 
and  learn  the  result  of  a  summer's  sojourn  with  us. 

Speaking  of  bird  migration,  it  is  fitting  to  consider  at 


174  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

tliis  time  certain  portions  of  Dr.  Benjamin  Smith  Bar- 
ton's '' Fragments  of  JN'atural  History,"  published  at 
Philadelphia  in  1709,  and  based  upon  observations  made 
near  that  citj.  From  it  we  gather  evidence  that  a  con- 
siderable change  has  been  brought  about  in  the  habits  of 
certain  species,  and  many  that  he  considered  as  summer 
or  winter  visitors  are  now  strictly  resident.  It  is,  of 
course,  possible  that  the  doctor's  observations  were  in- 
sufficiently extensive,  and  some  birds  were  overlooked 
which  were  really  to  be  found  in  the  vicinity  of  Phila- 
delphia at  the  time ;  but  this  supposition  is  scarcely  ten- 
able when  we  consider  that  Dr.  Barton  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  William  Bartram,  and  depended  largely  upon 
the  observations  of  that  accurate  observer  for  his  facts. 
It  will  be  seen,  also,  that  in  the  ninety-six  years  since 
Barton  vv-rote,  there  has  been  nothing  suggestive  of  a 
greater  regularity  in  the  seasons.  March  and  April  were 
as  fickle  then  as  now,  and  the  learned  doctor  would  evi- 
dently have  been  sorely  puzzled  to  give  an  accurate  de- 
scription of  spring,  of  which  he  has  so  much  to  say. 

Speaking  of  birds  coming  from  the  south,  at  the  close 
of  winter.  Dr.  Barton  remarks  :  "  It  must  not  be  imasr- 
ined  that  the  birds  which  I  have  enumerated  arrive  uni- 
formly every  year,  at  the  times  which  are  prefixed  to 
their  names.  ...  I  have  long  been  persuaded  that  the 
uniformity  of  the  arrival  of  the  migratory  birds,  in  any 
given  country,  is  not  so  great  as  many  naturalists  have 
imagined.  The  attention  which  I  have  paid  to  this  cu- 
rious subject  in  Pennsylvania  has  convinced  me  that  my 
suspicion  was  well  founded.  The  migration  of  birds  is 
not  a  'determinate  instinct,'  but  an  act  of  volition  or 


THE  TWIN   ISLANDS.  175 

will.  Hence  the  seasons  and  other  circumstances  will 
greatly  regulate  the  arrival  of  birds  in,  and  their  flight 
or  removal  from,  a  particular  country.  Sometimes  there 
is  a  difference  of  three  weeks  or  a  month  between  the 
arrival  or  appearance  of  the  same  species  in  two  differ- 
ent years.  This  will  aj^pear  from  the  following  in- 
stances, which  are  selected  from  many  others.  ...  It 
will  appear  that  the  Alauda  alpestris  or  shore  lark  ;  the 
Alauda  Tiibra  or  red  lark  (titlark  ?) ;  the  Frlngilla  tris- 
tis  or  golden  finch,  and  some  others,  were  not  observed 
in  the  vicinity  of  Philadelphia  earlier  than  March  12, 
1791 ;  whereas  the  same  birds  were  seen  in  the  same 
neighborhood  as  early  as  February  28th,  the  following 
year,  on  their  passage  northward.  .  .  ." 

It  would  appear  from  this  that  these  birds  were  mere- 
ly birds  of  passage,  which  made  no  protracted  stay  in 
this  neighborhood.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  two  larks 
arrive  from  the  north  in  October,  and  tarry  until  April. 
They  are  characteristic  features  of  our  midwinter  land- 
scapes, and  reside  with  us  for  nearly  one-half  of  the  year. 
Is  it  possible  that,  when  Dr.  Barton  wrote,  they  ]")assed 
us  by  in  autumn,  and  after  a  protracted  stay  in  more 
southern  localities,  only  lingered  in  the  vicinity  of  Phil- 
adelphia for  a  few  days  or  weeks  at  most  ? 

More  strangely  still,  the  "golden  finch,"  our  familiar 
thistle-bird,  is  now  a  resident  species,  and  while  wander- 
ino^  and  erratic  is  in  no  sense  mi£]^ratory.  Dr.  Barton 
did  not  confound  it  with  the  pine-finch,  for  of  the  latter 
he  has  much  to  say,  and  was  clearly  well  acquainted  with 
both  species.  If  not  a  blunder,  which  it  is  hard  to  be- 
lieve, this  bird  has  greatly  changed  its  habits. 


176  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

On  referring  to  Dr.  Barton's  "  Tables,"  we  are  at  once 
struck  witli  the  inapplicability  of  the  lists  to  the  dates 
given.  Thus,  under  that  of  March  12th,  fourteen  species 
are  named  as  first  seen  at  that  time  or  about  that  time. 
Three  of  these  have  been  commented  upon  ;  another,  the 
white-throated  sparrow,  like  the  others,  comes  to  us  in 
early  autumn  and  remains  until  every  vestige  of  winter 
has  disappeared. 

Again,  a  more  striking  instance  than  all,  is  to  mention 
the  turkey-buzzard  as  appearing  in  this  neighborhood 
as  late  as  June  20th.  JN^ow  it  must  be  admitted  that 
these  birds  are  of  a  wandering  disposition,  and  when  the 
mercury  falls  close  to  zero,  they  are  disposed  to  take 
shelter  from  the  north  winds  ;  but  of  ordinary  crisp 
winter  mornings,  provided  there  is  plenty  of  sunshine, 
they  have  no  fear,  and  it  is  quite  within  bounds  to  assert 
that  there  are  fully  one  third  as  many  of  these  birds 
floating  in  the  upper  air  in  January  as  in  June.  How- 
ever the  case  may  be,  as  to  w^hether  they  are  guided  by 
scent  or  sight  to  their  unsavory  food,  but  let  a  sickly 
sheep  wander  afield  in  midwinter,  and  the  attendant 
buzzards  will  not  be  far  away. 

Fully  one-half  of  the  birds  Dr.  Barton  names  are  now 
strictly  resident  species.  Are  we  to  suppose  that  they 
were  overlooked  ?  Now,  an  autumn  ramble  or  a  winter 
walk,  anywhere  beyond  the  city's  limits,  will  be  reward- 
ed by  the  presence  of  these  very  birds.  The  same  is 
true  of  many  species  mentioned  as  "April  arrivals." 
Some  that  are  now  migratory  come  much  earlier,  others 
are  resident.  One  large  diver,  called  by  him  an  ''eel 
crow,"  is  said  to  appear  about  April  15th.     This  was 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  177 

true  of  tliG  common  "devil  diver"  or  dabcliick  until 
recently,  but  of  late  years  they  are  "  irregularly  "  resi- 
dent ;  but  this  may  not  be  the  "  eel  crow  "  of  Dr.  Bar- 
ton, and  all  the  other  representatives  of  this  family  come 
to  us  in  autumn  and  are  winter  residents ;  being  more 
or  less  abundant,  as  the  winter  proves  mild  or  severe ; 
for  while  not  scared  by  ice,  they  nevertheless  delight  in 
open  water  and  an  abundance  of  fish. 

That  the  author  we  have  quoted  was  acquainted  with 
the  winter  birds  of  this  neighborhood  would  appear 
from  the  following,  and  it  would  seem  that  the  birds 
mentioned  have  really  altered  their  habits  to  a  certain 
extent.  Dr.  Barton  writes:  "How  much  the  move- 
ments of  birds  from  one  country  to  another  depend 
upon  the  state  of  the  seasons,  will  appear  from  different 
parts  of  this  little  work,  particularly  from  the  Third 
Section.  Here  we  find  that  durino:  our  mild  winters 
several  of  those  species  of  birds  which,  in  general,  are 
undoubtedly  migratory,  continue  the  winter  through 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Philadelphia.  Such,  which  I 
have  denominated  the  Occasional  or  Accidental  Kesident 
Birds,  are  the  Ardea  lierodias^  or  great  heron  ;  Columha 
Caroliiiensis,  or  turtle-dove  ;  the  Frlngilla  inelodla^  and 
several  others:  I  doubt  not  many  more  tlian  I  have 
mentioned."  Of  these  three  species,  the  former  only  is 
"  occasionally  "  resident ;  the  others  are  strictly  so.  Dr. 
Barton  continues,  as  follows :  "  The  Columha  migratoria, 
passenger  pigeon,  commonly  returns  from  the  northward 
late  in  the  fall,  and  continues  with  us  a  few  days  or 
weeks,  feeding  in  our  fields  upon  the  seed  of  the  buck- 
wheat, or  in  the  woods  upon  acorns.     But  if  the  season 


178  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

be  a  very  mild  one,  tliey  continue  with  us  for  a  much 
longer  time.  This  was  the  case  in  the  winter  of  1792- 
93,  when  immense  flocks  of  these  birds  continued  about 
the  city  and  did  not  migrate  farther  southward  until 
the  weather  became  more  severe  in  the  month  of 
January." 

At  present,  these  pigeons  find  too  little  food  to  tarry 
long  in  this  neighborhood,  yet  I  believe  I  have  never 
known  a  winter  to  pass  without  a  few  of  them  remain- 
ing about  our  woods,  especially  such  as  have  many 
beeches  growing  therein.  Dr.  Turnbull,  writing  in  and 
concerning  the  neighborhood  of  Philadelphia,  remarks 
of  this  pigeon,  that  it  is  "  plentiful,  but  is  more  frequent 
in  spring  and  autumn,  wdien  it  congregates  in  large 
flocks."  This  does  not  accord  with  my  own  observa- 
tions, and  I  find  on  inquiry  that  fifty  years  ago  flocks 
of  pigeons  annually  wintered  in  the  valley  of  Cross- 
wicks  Creek,  about  thirty  miles  from  Philadelphia  as 
the  crow  flies.  It  may  be,  therefore,  that  these  birds 
v/ere  not  as  sensitive  to  cold  as  Dr.  Barton  supposed. 

Another  quotation  from  our  authors  "  Fragments," 
and  I  have  done.  lie  writes:  "It  is  highly  probable 
that  the  periods  of  the  migrations  of  birds  will  be  found 
to  be  more  or  less  uniform  in  proportion  as  the  climates 
of  the  countries  to  which  they  migrate  are  more  or  less 
variable  in  their  temperature.  It  is,  perhaps,  upon  this 
principle  that  we  are  led  to  explain  the  difference  of 
the  times  of  arrival  and  departure  of  the  birds  of  Penn- 
sylvania, and  other  parts  of  ]N"ortli  America.  The  cli- 
mates of  these  countries  are  extremely  variable ;  I  sup- 
pose more  so  than  most  other  countries  that  are  known 


THE  TWIN   ISLANDS.  179 

to  lis.  If,  as  lias  been  supposed  by  many  writers,  the 
hand  of  man,  by  clearing  and  by  cultivating  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  contributes  essentially  to  the  greater  uni- 
formity in  the  temperature  of  climates,  it  is  reasonable 
to  conjecture  that  the  time  will  come  when  the  periods 
of  the  migrations  of  our  birds  will  be  more  constant 
and  fixed.  For  in  North  America,  especially  the  United 
States,  the  progress  of  population,  and  of  clearing  and 
cultivating  the  earth,  is  more  rapid  and  immense  than 
in  any  other  portion  of  the  world." 

Whether  it  is  reasonable  to  conjecture  or  not,  certain 
it  is,  that  our  author  did  not  correctly  estimate  the  ef- 
fects of  that  general  deforesting  of  the  country  which 
lias  taken  place  since  he  w^rote,  nearly  a  century  ago. 
The  trees  are  gone ;  the  countless  acres  of  ploughed  or 
weed-grown  fields  are  here,  and  wdth  them  a  climate  as 
variable  as  ever.  The  birds  come  and  go,  as  of  yore, 
but  with  the  same  degree  of  uncertainty  as  to  their  ar- 
rival and  departure.  The  birds  have  changed  far  more 
than  the  seasons,  and  so  other  causes  have  operated  to 
brin^*-  this  about,  or  it  is,  at  least,  an  indirect  effect  of 
the  climate.  The  destruction  of  the  forests  has  affected 
plant  life ;  this,  of  course,  has  its  influence  on  insect 
life,  and  the  birds  must  come  and  go,  as  their  food 
supply  determines.  The  change  wrought  is  that  migra- 
tion has  become  less  fixed  and  methodical  than  former- 
ly— not  more  so,  as  Dr.  Barton  believed  would  be  the 
case;  and  when  any  species  learns  to  live  upon  food 
available  at  all  seasons,  it  will  probably  cease  to  wander, 
unless  forced  to  seek  a  suitable  nesting  place  in  some 
distant  locality. 


180  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

About  2  P.M.  to-day  the  lieat  reached  its  maximum 
intensity ;  every  bird  became  silent,  the  scuttlers  and 
skaters  ceased  to  fret  the  still  waters,  where  they  were 
nearly  shut  oS  from  the  incoming  tide.  Even  the  har- 
vest-iiies  stridulated  less  frequently,  and  one  naturally 
thought  of  those  creatures  in  the  tropics  that  escape  in- 
tense heat  by  a  prolonged  sleep,  somewhat  akin  to  the 
hibernation  of  some  of  our  mammals  in  winter.  In 
equatorial  regions  there  occurs  a  true  aestivation  among 
mammals.  Does  anything  akin  to  it  occur  in  New 
Jersey  ?  Certainly,  when  we  have  days  like  this,  it  is 
probable  that  all  animal  life  is  affected  by  the  heat,  yet 
I  find  no  reference  to  such  influence  of  solar  heat  in 
any  work  descri23tive  of  the  habits  of  our  fauna.  What 
is  aestivation?  In  Stormonth's  dictionary  the  defini- 
tion is  as  follows:  "The  sleep  or  dormancy  of  animals 
during  the  hot  or  dry  season  in  warm  climates;  the 
analoD^ue  of  hibernation  in  cold  refj^ions." 

The  condition  of  certain  mammals,  as  reported  to  me 
during  the  summer  of  ISStl:,  brought  the  subject  j^romi- 
nently  to  mind,  and  I  found  that  in  past  years  I  had 
made  many  memoranda  concerning  unconscious  animals; 
but  the  full  significance  of  which  I  did  not,  until  re- 
cently, recognize  ;  and,  indeed,  I  may  not  now  correctly 
interpret  the  facts. 

The  following  is  an  instance  of  the  supposed  occur- 
rence of  aestivation,  or  something  closely  akin  to  it. 

A  family  of  white-footed  mice  was  found  in  an  ex- 
posed position  in  an  open  field ;  the  nest  being  made  of 
a  few  leaves  and  some  thistle-down,  under  an  old  tin 
pan,  the   bottom   of   which   had    nearly   rusted    away. 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  181 


When  these  mice  were  taken  up — and  they  were  han- 
dled witli  great  care — they  were  found  to  he  soft  and 
warm,  as  when  in  full  vigor,  but  gave  no  signs  of  life. 
The  female  mouse  and  her  three  young,  Avhich  were 
more  than  full  grown,  constituted  the  family.  As  there 
was  no  apparent  cause  for  the  deatli  of  the  mice,  I  de- 
termined to  investigate  the  matter  very  carefully.  One 
of  the  young  was  pricked  on  the  ear  with  a  needle, 
when  it  flinched  slightly.  The  others  were  similarly 
tested,  and  all  gave  evidence  of  life  to  the  same  extent. 
Carrying  these  mice  to  a  shady  spot,  and  placing  them 
in  a  comparatively  cool  position,  they  regained  their  or- 
dinary activity  in  about  seven  hours,  the  process  resem- 
bling closely  the  awaking  from  an  ordinary  sleep,  but 
of  course  was  much  more  gradually  accomplished.  They 
were  then  replaced  in  their  nest  in  the  Held,  which  they 
promptly  abandoned,  but  returned  thereto  in  the  course 
of  the  next  day.  Three  days  later  these  mice  were 
found  in  precisely  the  same  condition.  Time,  noon ; 
thermometer  10G°  Fahr.  These  mice  were  taken  di- 
rectly to  a  cellar  forty-two  degrees  cooler  than  the  open 
field,  and  the  sudden  change  proved  too  great  a  shock. 
The  young  died  in  one  hour;  the  old  mouse,  in  less 
than  three  hours.  Had  these  mice,  after  their  lirst  re- 
moval, when  replaced  in  the  field,  directly  become  stu- 
pid or  actually  dormant,  it  might  naturally  be  inferred 
that  the  heat  had  seriously  affected  them ;  but,  as  we 
have  seen,  such  was  not  the  case.  During  the  evening 
of  the  day  following  my  replacing  them  in  the  field,  the 
air  became  cooler  by  twenty-nine  degrees,  by  7  r.  m., 
and  was  thirty-four  degrees  cooler  four  hours  later,  and 


182  WASTE-LAND   WAXDERIXGS. 

the  mice  were  active,  and  fed  heartily  upon  bread- 
crumbs placed  near  their  nest.  Now  why,  it  may  be 
asked,  did  they  not  seek  out  a  cooler  retreat  in  the 
woods  near  by?  I  can  only  suggest  that  the  supposed 
aestivating  condition  was  not  inconvenient  nor  unpleas- 
ant, and  that  it  was  preferable  to  the  abandonment  of 
their  nest,  w^hich  was  suited  to  their  needs  for  all  time, 
except  such  extraordinary  spells  of  hot  weather.  Either 
these  mice  were  excessively  stupid,  or  a  dormant  condi- 
tion, caused  by  excessive  heat,  was  nothing  unusual  with 
them. 

There  is  in  this  instance  a  marked  difference  from  a 
hibernating  sleep,  in  that  the  period  of  dormancy  w^as 
of  but  a  few  hours'  duration ;  but  was  like  the  torpid 
slumber  of  a  hibernating  animal,  in  that  the  condition 
was  one  from  which  it  was  not  possible  to  arouse  them, 
as  from  ordinary  slumber.  The  awakening  had  to  come 
from  a  change  of  temperature  ;  and  just  in  proportion  as 
the  evenings  were  warm,  the  mice  were  tardy  in  return- 
ing to  consciousness.  To  more  effectually  test  this,  I 
carefully  removed  these  mice  from  the  field,  and  placed 
them  near  a  stove,  so  that  the  mid -day  temperature 
could  be  maintained.  The  result  was  the  continuance 
of  the  dormant  condition  for  eighty-four  hours. 

When  the  effect  of  a  protracted  drought  and  heated 
terms  upon  our  animals  has  been  more  fully  worked  out, 
I  believe  it  will  be  found  that  many  a  mouse  and  other 
small  mammal  which  is  found  lying  dead,  as  supposed, 
is  really  not  in  a  moribund  but  dormant  condition,  and 
if  left  undisturbed  would  revive.  But  what  other  evi- 
dence is  there  of  this  ?     The  wdiite-footed  mice  are  not, 


THE  TWIX  ISLANDS.  183 

of  tlicmselves,  sufficient  to  prove  that  aestivation  is  an 
established  habit.  Wliat  other  evidence  amonir  mam- 
mals  have  we  ? 

In  August,  18S0, 1  found  bats  on  four  different  occa- 
sions, all  of  which  were  apparently  in  full  health,  yet 
they  did  not,  for  some  reason,  which  I  supposed  to  be 
the  excessive  heat  then  prevailing,  resume  their  crepus- 
cular flights  at  the  usual  hour.  These  bats  had  "gone  to 
roost "  under  leaves  on  trees  and  a  grape-vine,  and  were, 
no  doubt,  fully  intending  to  resume  their  activity  after 
a  nap  of  a  day's  length  was  over.  Why  did  they  not  ? 
The  following  days  were  excessively  hot  until  the  fourth, 
which  was  a  few  degrees  cooler.  It  clouded  over  early  in 
the  afternoon  ;  soon  it  became  damp,  and  just  before  the 
commencement  of  a  passing  shower  these  bats  were 
stirring  a  little  as  they  hung — quivering  their  wings  as 
though  to  see  if  all  was  in  working  order,  and  then  away 
they  flew,  after,  in  each  case,  certainly  ninety  hours  of 
rest.  Docs  it  adequately  explain  all  the  facts  to  say  that 
these  bats  were  overcome  by  the  heat  ?  They  were  resting 
in  the  shade  during  the  day,  and  the  nights,  when  they 
w^ould  be  active,  were  cooler;  but  in  these  cases  very 
little  cooler.  They  were  nights  to  be  remembered  for 
their  sultriness ;  and  may  it  not  be  that  there  was  not 
sufficient  difference  in  the  mid-day  and  evening  temper- 
ature to  enable  them  to  throw  off  the  nervous  prostra- 
tion caused  by  the  heat  of  the  day  ?  Explain  it  thus,  and 
then  we  are  left  to  consider  what  is  this  nervous  pros- 
tration ?  In  the  case  of  the  bats  mentioned,  they  were 
all  in  a  perfectly  torpid  state,  and  gave  not  the  least  sign 
of  life  wdicn  handled,  and  only  flinched  slightly  when 


184  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

wounded  hj  being-  pricked  witli  a  needle.  Would  not 
nervous  prostration  that  produced  insensibility,  lasting 
several  hours,  almost  certainly  produce  death  ?  In  the 
case  of  the  bats,  a  torpid  condition  extending  through 
ninety  hours  produced  no  ill  effects.  I  am  disposed  to 
believe  that  the  coming  hot  and  dry  weather  was  antici- 
pated, and  these  bats  retired  for  the  purpose  of  escaping 
it,  and  entered  into  a  condition  widely  different  from 
ordinary  sleep,  which  was  to  last  until  the  so-called  heat- 
ed term  was  over,  the  lowering  of  the  temperature  being 
the  one  means  through  which  they  would  be  restored  to 
consciousness.  There  occurs  this  deliberate  action  on 
the  part  of  certain  mammals  Vvdiich  regularly  hibernate 
— why  should  not  the  same  be  true  of  them  when  the 
extreme  is  one  of  heat  instead  of  cold  ? 

As  bearing  upon  this  question,  let  me  quote  a  few  lines 
from  i\\Q  Eacyclojpoedia  Britannica — -ninth  edition — 
article,  Hibernation.  It  says:  ''The  dormouse  not  only 
hibernates,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term,  but  will  sleep 
at  intervals  for  several  days  together  during  mild  weath- 
er. When  a  Myoxus — an  allied  animal  inhabiting  Af- 
rica—  was  brought  to  Europe,  it  hibernated  as  if  this 
were  its  normal  habit.  Whether  it  aestivates  in  its  native 
country  is  not  known,  but  its  hibernating  in  Europe 
shows  a  greater  power  of  adapting  itself  to  changed 
conditions  of  life  than  we  should  have  been  inclined  to 
suspect." 

I  would  briefly  call  attention  to  two  points  in  the 
above :  that  in  temperate  climates  prolonged  sleep  is  not 
imknown  among  rodents,  and  also  tliat  some  tropical 
rodents  probably  ^stivate.     In  the  case  of  the  white- 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  185 

footed -mice,  and,  too,  of  the  bats,  I  am  very  positive 
that  their  condition  was  not  that  of  ordinary  shimber ; 
and  the  tropical  temperature  at  the  time,  even  tlirough 
the  night,  certainly  suggests  testivation  as  the  most 
plausible  explanation  of  the  phenomena  I  have  de- 
scribed. 

As  so  often  happens  during  hot  August  days,  the  af- 
ternoon draws  to  a  close  with  a  terrific  thunder-shower. 
To-day  I  saw  that  one  was  coming.  The  threatening 
morning  had  been  a  combination  of  slight  sliowers  and 
intense  heat — now  for  the  climax.  I  knew  what  was  to 
be,  loner  enouo:h  before  tlie  shower  reached  me,  to  have 
escaped  it  all,  but  I  had  no  desire  to  do  so.  I  was  pre- 
pared for  all  the  rain  that  might  fall,  and  willing  to  risk 
the  inconvenient  possibility  of  the  night  proving  stormy. 
All  needed  preparation  was  soon  made.  I  had  but  to 
draw  my  boat  from  the  creek,  and  turning  it  up  upon 
one  side,  let  the  other  rest  upon  two  short,  crotched 
sticks.  This  done,  and  my  gum  blanket  spread,  I  was 
provided  vrith  all  necessary  slielter.  But  I  was  none  too 
prompt  in  making  my  arrangements,  for  by  the  time  I 
was  fairly  under  the  boat  and  in  a  comfortable  position, 
big  drops  came  pattering  down  upon  the  meadows  be- 
yond, then  upon  the  creek,  and  finally  upon  the  bottom 
of  the  upturned  boat.  It  was  music  to  my  ears.  At 
times  the  rain  seemed  to  descend  in  thin  sheets  of  water, 
one  closely  following  the  other ;  and  the  sudden  splash 
of  these  upon  the  surface  of  the  creek  produced  a  scries 
of  very  distinct,  sharp  reports,  like  slapping  the  flat  side 
of  an  oar-blade  upon  still  water.     This  at  times  was  va- 


18S  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

ried  by  tlie  effect  of  sudden  puffs  of  wind  whicli  con- 
verted the  rain  into  mist-like  particles  that  penetrated 
everywhere,  even  under  my  boat.  Once  the  wind  gath- 
ered the  descending  waters  and  produced  of  them  a  min- 
iature water-spout.  This  shot  erratically  up  the  creek, 
leaving  a  white  line  of  bubbles  that  marked  its  zigzag 
track.  But  once  in  my  life  did  I  ever  see  it  rain  more 
violently. 

Interesting  as  was  this  shower,  viewed  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, I  was  more  struck  by  the  effects  that  the 
thunder  had  upon  the  fishes  than  by  anything  else  that 
I  saw.  The  lightning  played  about  me  at  uncomforta- 
bly short  distances,  and  a  large  tulip-tree,  not  many  rods 
away,  was  somewhat  shattered.  But  of  the  fishes :  at 
every  clap  hundreds  came  suddenly  to  the  surface,  and 
the  small  minnows  leaped  several  inches  above  it.  This 
was  not  an  occasional  but  a  uniform  effect  of  the  thun- 
der. I  have  been  on  and  near  this  and  other  creeks  be- 
fore during  showers,  but  never  saw  this  effect  produced 
upon  fish  to  anything  like  the  same  extent. 

After  the  shower  passed,  by  the  dim  light  of  a  cloudy 
sunset  I  hunted  for  fishes  that  I  thought  might  have 
been  killed  by  the  concussions  that  shook  them  up  so 
thoroughly,  but  found  none ;  and  so,  while  I  could  yet 
see,  sought  for  a  cluster  of  bushes,  wherein  to  leave  my 
boat  for  the  night. 

I  have  referred  to  a  harder  shower  than  this  of  to-day. 
It  occurred  on  August  24:,  1877;  and  although  its  force 
was  largely  spent  upon  meadows  three  or  four  miles 
away,  it  may  properly  be  included  among  the  eventful 
occurrences  of  this  creek's  valley. 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  187 

I  quote  from  my  notes  concerning  it,  published  in  tlie 
State  Geologist's  report  for  18S1:  "Previously  to  1.30 
P.M.  tlie  day  offered  no  peculiar  meteorological  features. 
The  temperature  was  78*^  Fahr.  at  noon,  wind  south-east. 
About  1.30  P.M.  the  wind  shifted  to  the  south-west,  and 
a  heavy  bank  of  blue-black  clouds  formed  in  the  north- 
west. The  appearance  at  this  time  was  that  of  an  or- 
dinary summer  shower.  I  did  not  notice  any  lightning 
or  hear  any  distant  thunder.  While  standing  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  near  where  my  house  stands,  and 
facing  the  south-west,  I  noticed  that  a  bank  of  cloud 
somewhat  similar  to  that  in  the  north  -  west  was  also 
rapidly  forming,  and  the  two  appeared  to  be  approach- 
ing each  other,  although,  of  course,  not  from  oppo- 
site directions.  In  a  few  moments  there  was  a  sudden 
chano:e  in  the  several  conditions  then  existing;.  The 
stiff  north-west  breeze  suddenly  ceased.  A  remarkable 
stillness  pervaded  the  atmosphere,  and  a  feeling  of  op- 
pression was  very  noticeable.  Just  at  this  time  the  two 
masses  of  clouds  came  in  contact,  apparently  (and  really, 
I  think),  directly  over  the  extensive  stretch  of  meadows 
lying  north  of  Bordentown,  New  Jersey,  along  the  Del- 
aware River.  At  the  moment  of  contact  of  these  cloud- 
masses  there  was  a  loud,  humming  sound  clearly  audi- 
ble, but  not  caused  by  a  wind,  as  the  leaves  on  all  the 
trees  v;ere  motionless.  The  two  cloud-masses  formed 
one,  but  each  retained  its  peculiar  coloring,  and  in  less 
than  a  minute,  I  should  think,  a  huge  water-spout  formed 
— or  at  least  the  clouds  became  a  single  conical  mass, 
w^ith  the  apex  downward.  As  suddenly  as  it  formed  it 
broke,  and  in  ten  minutes  at  most  thereafter  the  mead- 


188  WASTE-LAND  WANDERIXGS. 

ows  were  flooded.  The  storm  now  took  the  form 
of  a  general  rain,  and  extended  over  a  considerable 
area. 

"  Such  a  rain,  however,  I  have  never  witnessed  either 
before  or  since.  I  found  by  experiment  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  breathe  while  facing  it  unless  by  protecting 
my  nose  and  mouth  with  my  hand.  At  a  distance  of 
one  hundred  feet  objects  were  wholly  obscured  from 
view.  This  fearful  rainfall  continued  for  about  forty 
minutes  and  then  began  to  abate,  but  it  was  not  until 
5  P.M.  that  the  rain  ceased  and  the  sky  became  compara- 
tively clear.  This  storm  was  remarkable  for  one  feat- 
ure other  than  that  of  the  quantity  of  water  that  fell ; 
this  was  the  absence  of  lightning. 

"  No  ordinary  means  w^ould  have  proved  available  for 
measurino^  the  rainfall  in  this  case.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  it  was  considerably  in  excess  of  what  I  ascertained 
at  the  time  to  be,  we  will  say,  the  minimum ;  and  here, 
certainly,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  water-spout, 
was  a  rainfall  of  nine  inches  in  the  three  hours  of  tliat 
day,  from  2  until  5  p.m. 

"  Perhaps  it  may  not  be  without  interest  to  add  that 
the  storm  caused  a  considerable  destruction  of  life. 
Calves  and  sheep  were  drowned,  and  many  birds  and  small 
mammals  were  destroyed.  I  found  numbers  of  drowned 
crows  and  some  smaller  birds  immediately  afterwards, 
and  several  mice  and  squirrels.  Insect  life,  also,  was 
greatly  affected  by  the  storm,  their  ordinary  means  of 
shelter  during  showers  proving  quite  inadequate  to  pro- 
tect them  against  the  violence  of  this  remarkable  rain- 
fall." 


THE  TWIN  ISLANDS.  189 

My  eventful  day  Lad  drawn  to  a  close,  but  ray  labors 
did  not  end  with  the  gloaming.  It  was  no  light  task, 
with  my  treasures  mined  from  a  neighbor's  dark  attic, 
and  an  arm -load  of  meadow  bloom,  to  wend  my  way 
homeward  through  tangled  grass  still  dripping  with  the 
recent  rain.  An  occasional  stumble  was  not  submitted 
to  with  the  best  of  grace.  But  the  climax  was  to  come. 
I  had  thought  that  my  exposure  to  a  storm  would  have 
excited  sympathy,  and  my  heaped -up  treasures  arouse 
the  interest  of  all  who  saw  them.  Alas!  straightway 
on  enterinc:  the  house  I  was  reminded  that  I  had  not 
washed  my  hands. 

Washed  my  hands !  For  what  then  had  I  been  gath- 
ering the  glory  of  the  marshes,  if  not  that  their  essence 
might  cling  to  me  ?  Washed  my  hands  !  ^o,  and  to 
free  them  from  such  honorable  soiling  never  will.  1 
would  that  my  heart  Avas  as  stained  as  my  hands ;  that 
the  virtues  of  waste-land  pierced  me  through  and  through. 
All  that  is  lovable  in  this  world  has  not  yet  been  gar- 
nered. 


CHAPTER  yil. 
MILL   CREEK. 

The  wanderer  in  waste-lands  comes  continually  njDon 
localities,  shady  nooks  in  the  woods,  quiet  corners  of  neg- 
lected fields,  and  weed-hidden  recesses  of  forest  streams, 
that  are  suggestive  of  contemplation.  Eagerness  for  ac- 
tive exploration  gives  way  to  a  desire  for  passive  enjoy- 
ment. Such  a  spot  is  Mill  Creek.  One  must,  indeed, 
have  urgent  business  who  can  hurry  over  its  brief  course. 

My  purpose  was  to  pass  the  day  in  quiet,  or  at  most 
to  watch  the  fishes  that  swarm  the  shallower  portions  of 
the  stream. 

While  I  have  always  urged  the  desirability  of  being 
forearmed  with  a  plan,  when  bent  upon  a  day's  outing, 
I  do  not  claim  it  can  always  be  carried  out.  Some 
stranger  may,  at  the  same  time,  come  up  to  spy  out 
the  land,  and  you  have  then  nothing  to  do  but  to  spy 
him  out.     Count  it  good-fortune  when  so  it  happens. 

Years  ago  I  met  with  pleasant  surprises  when  here ; 
still,  I  could  not,  from  this  fact,  expect  them  to  continue. 
To-day,  at  least,  I  hoped  that  the  suggestive  quiet  of 
these  shades  would  not  be  disturbed,  and  had  not  pro- 
ceeded a  dozen  rods  beyond  the  bar  that  nearly  closes 
the  reedy  entrance  to  the  creek,  when  down  from  above 
the  tree-tops  dropped  a  dainty  sand-j^iper. 

Quietly  as  possible  I  sought  the  drooping  branches 


MILL  CREEK.  191 

of  an  overhanging  oak,  hoping  to  observe  the  bird  to 
advantage.  In  this  I  failed.  It  saw  tliat  my  move- 
ments referred  to  itself,  and  wheeling  upward  rose  far 
above  the  trees  and  disappeared. 

It  tarried  a  second  before  speeding  riverward,  and 
suggested,  in  so  doing,  that  a  view  from  some  such 
height  would  prove  a  pleasant  variation  in  my  outings. 
Forthwith  I  left  my  boat  to  climb  a  tree. 

To  most  people,  I  suppose,  tree-tops  fifty  feet  above 
their  heads  are  quite  as  inaccessible  as  the  antipodes. 
But  this  inaccessibility  is  not  real  in  every  case. 

The  truth  is,  I  envied  the  slight  breeze  overhead,  and 
determined  it  should  fan  my  brow.  It  did,  and  now  I 
am  ready  to  proclaim,  happy  is  he  who  has  sufficient 
"  scansorial  ability  "  to  climb  inviting  trees  and  take  his 
comfort  in  their  upper  branches. 

Before  fashion  turns  the  tide  that  way,  let  me  chroni- 
cle what  I  conceive  to  be  the  charms  of  such  a  journey ; 
for  it  is  equal  to  a  day's  tramp  to  reach  the  summit  of  a 
towering  tree — one  which  has  dis230sed  of  its  branches 
in  such  a  manner  that  a  man  needs  to  be  ten  feet  long 
to  reach  from  one  limb  to  the  next  above  him.  The 
climber  must  exercise  a  deal  of  ingenuity  at  times,  and 
perhaps  run  something  of  a  risk ;  but  once  at  the  top, 
wdiat  happiness  awaits  him  ! 

There  is  an  inborn  disposition  in  all  to  look  down 
upon  our  fellows,  as  well  as  to  look  up  to  a  few  individu- 
als. Climb  a  tree  and  look  down  upon  the  Avorld  with- 
out giving  any  one  offence.  From  my  tall  tree's  upper 
branches  I  looked  down  u])on  toiling  harvesters,  and 
then  looking  upward  saw  a  cloud  of  mosquitoes  looking 


192  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

down  on  me.  Was  my  boasting  to  come  to  nauglit, 
thought  I ;  but  before  I  heard  the  famtest  trumpeting 
a  breeze  had  carried  them  to  the  distant  hills.  It  was 
but  an  intimation  that  pride  was  liable  to  a  fall  at  all 
times,  so  I  became  humble — a  curious  sensation — and  es- 
sayed to  study  life  from  my  novel  point  of  view.  The 
first  bird  that  I  saw  was  a  swallow.  I  marked  it  as  it 
passed  a  gaunt -armed  chestnut,  tardy  with  its  bloom. 
Tarrying  not,  it  circled  the  leafy  crown  of  clustered 
beeches,  scanned  the  deep  caverns  of  a  gnarly  oak,  trav- 
ersed a  maze  of  birches,  ehns,  and  maples,  threaded  its 
way  through  tangled  growths  beneath,  and  twittering  to 
its  fellows  as  it  passed,  hurried  to  greet  a  passing  feath- 
ery cloud,  and  from  the  upper  regions  viewed  afar  the 
misty  mountains,  miles  and  miles  away. 

Perhaps  a  threatening  storm-cloud  drove  it  thence, 
but  swift  as  an  arrow  back  again  it  came,  and  I  felt  my 
cheek  fanned  by  the  creature's  wing.  Off  then  to  the 
river  shore  it  sped,  and  tricked  each  leaping  wave  that 
sought  to  catch  it,  peered  into  every  nook  and  cranny 
of  the  stream,  cast  a  fleet  shadow  upon  every  rock, 
bathed  in  the  spray,  basked  in  the  sunshine,  and  then 
outspeeding  vision  sought  the  cool  shadows  of  a  wild 
ravine.  Then,  upward  and  outward  in  a  flood  of  light, 
it  circled  a  sink-hole  in  an  upland  field,  counted  the  queer 
corners  of  a  zigzag  fence,  and  played  bopeep  with  a  lit- 
tle whirlwind,  as  it  bore  a  dust  pillar  to  my  neighbor's 
woods.  Checking  its  course,  it  turned  abruptly  and 
sought  the  Mill  Creek  shadows  whence  it  started. 

Was  it  gone  an  hour  ?     By  my  watch  not  five  min- 
utes.    I  saw  almost  at  the  same  moment  the  steam  from 


MILL  CREEK.  193 

the  locomotive  as  the  "limited  express"  went  hurrjing 
westward,  and  that  marvellous  train  seemed  not  half  so 
wonderful  as  the  swallow's  wing. 

So  far  as  these  birds  are  concerned,  one  need  not  won- 
der at  their  migrations.  In  less  than  a  day  and  a  half 
they  can  transport  themselves  to  the  tropics,  or  as  near 
them  as  they  see  fit  to  go,  when  winter's  rigor  drives 
tliem  from  their  summer  haunts.  And  the  other  birds? 
You  rouse  their  curiosity  when  you  sit  in  a  tree  and 
can  study  them  at  leisure.  The  first  to  come  after  the 
swallow's  fleeting  visit  was  a  cuckoo.  It  perched  upon 
a  twig  but  a  few  feet  away,  and  failed  at  first  to  recog- 
nize me.  Then  what  I  was  slowly  dawned  upon  it,  and 
it  spluttered  a  guttural  exclamation  that  you,  kind  read- 
er, and  I  would  probably  translate  cpite  differently.  Af- 
ter long  intercourse  with  birds  of  many  kinds  and  a  few 
representative  mammals,  I  am  inclined  to  look  upon  pro- 
fanity as  a  product  of  evolution.  But  the  cuckoo  was 
not  mad.  It  merely  took  a  back  seat  and  contemplated 
me.  Wliat  the  cuckoo  thought,  do  not  ask,  but  if  a  bird 
has  once  been  seen  sitting  and  watching  a  man  as  that 
one  did,  it  will  not  be  denied  that  it  does  think. 

I  glanced  about  to  see  if  there  was  any  attraction  for 
the  bird,  and  saw  a  group  of  caterpillars  almost  within 
my  reach.  I  wished  that  I  was  a  little  fartlier  off,  that 
the  cuckoo  might  eat  tliem,  and  then  wondered  if  he 
would  not  in  time  muster  up  the  necessary  courage. 
This  he  finally  did.  Finding  that  I  was  perfectly  quiet, 
he  ventured  a  little  nearer,  and  at  last  reached  the  outer 
side  of  the  group  of  caterpillars.  Like  lightning  he 
seized  perhaps  a  dozen,  and  then  his  courage  failed  him. 
9 


194  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

I  might  prove  dangerous,  lie  tlioiiglit,  and  afar  over  the 
meadows  he  flew. 

I  heard  him  croaking,  when  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 
I  am  sure,  and  straightway  his  hoarse  cry  was  answered 
from  my  tree.  "  Another  cuckoo  here  ?"  I  asked  myself, 
and  looked  everywhere  above,  below,  and  about  me.  I 
strained  every  muscle  to  see  the  outermost  branches  of 
the  tree  that  I  was  in,  and  scanned  each  neighboring 
tree  as  carefully.  There  was  no  bird  visible,  and  yet  a 
guttural  "  cuck,  cuck,  cuck,"  was  continually  rung  in  my 
ears.  Finally,  looking  directly  below  me,  I  saw  a  shal- 
low hole,  where  a  weak  side-branch  had  rotted  off,  and 
in  it,  squatted  in  the  rain-water  lodged  therein,  sat  a 
tree-toad.  The  creature  was  far  in  advance  of  me  in 
tree  topics.  Here  he  was  with  his  bath-tub  and  certain 
of  a  moderate  food  supply,  even  if  he  sat  still.  A  snug- 
ger nest  I  never  found,  and  am  only  puzzled  that  its 
occupant  should  croak  instead  of  sing.  Why  any  bird 
or  batrachian  should  ever  express  itself  in  such  doleful 
tones  is  a  hard  nut,  I  take  it,  for  evolutionists  to  crack. 
It  does  not  seem,  in  any  case,  to  subserve  any  good  pur- 
pose. It  is  not  a  call  to  its  mate,  and  tree -toads  can 
hardly  be  said  to  ever  be  mated ;  it  brings  no  food  and 
frightens  no  enemies.  Like  dyspeptics  among  mankind, 
in  the  case  of  the  tree-toads  they  sit  still  and  croak  pret- 
ty much  their  whole  lives ;  or  in  that  of  cuckoos,  wander 
the  country  over  and  never  cease  croaking.  The  truth 
is,  the  cuckoo  has  a  far  easier  time  than  most  birds,  and 
its  voice  suggests  that  it  is  a  natural  fault-finder. 

Ofttimes  the  fool  the  universe  would  rule. 
The  world  moves  on,  and  disregards  tlie  fool. 


MILL  CREEK.  195 

While  contemplating  the  pretty  tree-toad  in  its  cosey 
quarters,  I  was  startled  by  a  multiplicity  of  sounds :  a 
passing  flock  of  redwings,  a  family  of  pigeon-woodpeck- 
ers, the  hum  of  excited  bees  uncomfortably  near,  and 
more  strange  than  musical,  more  suggestive  than  enter- 
taining, the  hoarse,  rattling  cacophony  of  a  yellow-breast- 
ed chat.  It  lluttered  up  from  a  tangled  thicket  of  briers 
below  me,  and  when  in  mid-air  gave  utterance  to  such 
varied  cries  as  would  baffle  a  mocking-bird. 

How  rudely,  sometimes,  our  dreams  of  bliss  are  dis- 
pelled !  The  time  came  for  me  to  descend,  and  I  discov- 
ered that  my  limbs  had  rebelled  against  their  lung  con- 
finement in  a  cramped  position.  I  was  very  wide  awake, 
but  they  had  gone  to  sleep,  nor  would  they  be  awakened. 
Clinging  with  my  arms  to  the  stout  branches,  I  kicked 
at  the  outer  air,  and  then  for  a  moment,  though  it  seemed 
an  hour,  could  not  withdraw  mv  leo-s  to  a  more  substan- 
tial  footing.  Here  was  a  veritable  thorn  clinging  to  my 
pet  rose,  and  one  not  easily  got  rid  of.  I  as  nearly  lost 
my  life  as  I  care  to,  and  will  not  ignore  my  legs  in  the 
future  when  I  go  a-climbing.  So  a  word  of  advice. 
However  comfortable  you  may  be,  whether  in  a  tree-top 
or  the  laziest  of  rests  aground,  secure  your  comfort,  if 
not  safety,  by  occasionally  shifting  your  limbs. 

Scarcely  had  I  reached  my  boat,  when  the  dainty  sand- 
piper returned.  It  is  larger  than  the  common  speckled- 
breasted  "  teeter,"  as  it  is  usually  called,  of  more  slender 
build  and  darker  plumage. 

The  bird  before  me,  which  for  quite  insufiicient  rea- 
son is  often  called  the  "solitary,"  and  by  some  the 
"wood-tattler" — a  much  better  name — cojnes  early  or 


196  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

late  in  April,  according  to  the  weatlier.  It  does  not 
make  much  of  a  stay,  but  hurries  northward,  and  reap- 
pears in  August  and  September.  Every  summer,  how- 
ever, a  few  remain  and  breed. 

When  the  wood-tattlers  arrive  in  May,  they  are  most- 
ly found  in  the  wet  meadows,  often  in  flocks  of  from 
twelve  to  twenty,  and  are  usually  so  silent  that,  if  not 
seen,  their  prerence  would  not  be  suspected.  Many  a 
time,  w^ien  croaching  in  the  long  grass  on  the  margin 
of  a  meadow  brook,  watching  the  frogs  or  fish,  as  the 
case  might  be,  I  liave  seen  these  sand-pipers  alight  with- 
in a  few  feet  of  me,  and  wander  about  in  full  view,  yet 
never  uttering  a  sound.  After  a  long  flight,  to  see  them 
set  their  wings  and  pitch  towards  the  ground,  and  wlien 
very  near  it,  to  check  their  course  and  settle,  is  to  Vvit- 
ness  tlie  acme  of  graceful  motion.  Another  exquisite 
movement  is  that  of  raising  their  wings  as  their  feet 
touch  the  ground,  and  then  folding  them  gracefully.  I 
know  of  no  ordinary  habit  of  our  many  birds  that  is  so 
uniformly  attractive. 

But  if  quiet  during  the  day,  it  is  not  so  always.  Tow- 
ards the  close  of  the  day,  and  sometimes  until  long  after 
sunset,  instead  of  hunting  for  food  in  a  staid,  methodical 
manner,  they  indulge  in  aerial  antics  that  exceed  the 
wooing  woodcock  in  fantastic  high  and  lofty  tumbling. 
A  half-dozen  or  more  will  dart  at  one  another  when  at  a 
great  elevation,  yet  never  come  into  actual  contact,  and 
then,  with  loud  and  pleasing  whistling,  dart  down  and 
perch  upon  the  very  top  of  some  tall  tree,  and  there 
bow  and  bend  with  all  the  fussiness  of  a  dancing-master. 

These  antics  occur  towards  the  end  of  their  spring- 


MILL  CREEK.  ]07 

tide  sojourn  here,  and  probably  then  mating  occurs 
among  young  birds,  and  former  vows  are  renewed  by 
the  older  birds,  if  it  is  true  of  these,  as  of  some  others, 
that  they  are  mated  for  life. 

Wood-tattlers  are  contradictory  creatures.  They  ap- 
pear to  be  very  timid,  yet  in  fact  are  not  very  readily 
frightened.  As  the  bird  before  me  was  standing  quiet- 
ly at  the  edge  of  the  water,  not  then  engaged  in  feeding, 
I  sharply  slai)pcd  my  hands  together.  At  the  report, 
up  went  the  delicate,  slender  wings  until  they  touched 
above  the  bird's  back,  and  then  were  deliberately  folded. 
Again  I  made  the  same  noise,  with  the  same  effect ;  and 
then,  repeating  the  sounds  at  shorter  and  shorter  inter- 
vals, kept  the  poor  bird's  wings  trembling  in  a  very 
ludicrous  manner.  As  soon  as  I  ceased  claj^ping  my 
hands,  the  bird  resumed  its  position  of  contemplative 
rest,  except  when  stirred  to  action  by  the  sight  of  some 
delicate  morsel  of  food  creeping  in  the  mud  or  water 
before  it. 

In  time,  as  the  outgoing  tide  enlarged  the  mud-flat, 
and  brought  newer  feeding -ground  to  view,  the  sand- 
piper became  more  active  and  ran  from  side  to  side,  as 
though  fearing  some  of  the  available  food-supply  might 
be  overlooked  or  escape.  While  so  doing,  a  shadow 
passed  over  the  creek ;  it  was  that  of  a  buzzard,  half  a 
mile  away,  and  yet  the  sand-piper  would  run  no  risk,  and 
squatted  so  closely  to  the  mud  that  I  could  not  see  it. 
In  this  concealed  position  it  remained  fully  one  minute, 
and  then  resumed  its  food-hunting  calmly  as  before. 

At  no  time  did  the  bird  leave  the  little  island  and 
wade  out  into  the  water.     This  was  quite  interesting  to 


198  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

me,  as  it  often  does  wade  until  the  water  laps  its  breast, 
and  then,  if  it  happens  to  keep  its  body  bobbing  forward 
as  it  walks,  you  would  suppose  that  it  was  taking  a  bath. 

At  length,  being  very  tired  of  my  cramped  position, 
I  concluded  to  flush  the  bird  by  making  my  appearance 
from  beneath  the  drooping  boughs  of  the  oak.  As  I 
did  so,  the  sand-piper  gave  a  shrill  whistle,  and  flew  up 
the  creek  to  another  mud-flat.  Here,  however,  it  was 
not  satisfied,  and  returning  flew  to  within  a  dozen  paces 
of  my  boat,  and  then  commenced  an  upward  circling 
flight,  until  nearly  out  of  sight. 

This  wood  -  tattler,  the  first  I  have  seen  since  May, 
recalled  the  finding  of  a  pair  in  the  chinkapin  swamp 
more  than  twenty  years  ago.  It  was  a  perfect  June 
morning,  and  all  that  that  implies  was  to  be  enjoyed  in 
the  sprout  lands  and  the  chinkapin  swamp  beyond. 

That  June  morning  of  long  ago  was  a  naturalist's  red- 
letter  day.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  I  found  the  pretty 
prairie  warblers  in  abundance;  not  as  tardy  migrants 
on  their  way  north,  but  here  for  the  summer.  They 
were  busy  insect -hunting  among  the  dwarfish  oak- 
sprouts,  and  some  busier  with  their  nests  and  young, 
which  I  found  after  an  easy  search.  Occasionally  a 
brilliant  redstart  would  dart  through  the  bushes,  and 
add  to  the  animation  of  the  scene.     All  these  birds  sang 

constantly. 

An  individual  prairie  warbler  cannot  be  classed  among 
our  accomplished  songsters,  but  the  united  voices  of  a 
dozen  or  more  as  I  heard  them,  mingled  with  the  dis- 
tant rinsing  tones  of  wa2;tails  and  the  nearer  and  clearer 
whistle  of  the  oriole,  made  delightful  music. 


MILL  CREEK.  199 

Even  better  tlian  my  experience  ^vitli  tlie  warblers 
was  tlie  fact  that  while  I  was  stooping  over  a  little 
spring  that  bubbled  and  sparkled  among  emerald  moss- 
es, down  like  an  arrow  came  a  wood-tattler  and  settled 
scarcely  six  feet  away.  I  turned  my  face  towards  it, 
and  the  bird,  while  evidently  much  puzzled,  could  not 
make  up  its  mind  as  to  what  sort  of  a  creature  I  was, 
and  remained  at  its  post  staring  back  at  me.  To  pre- 
serve such  a  cramped  position  for  any  length  of  time 
was,  of  course,  impracticable,  and  suddenly  regaining 
the  perpendicular,  my  identity  was  revealed  so  abruptly 
that  for  a  moment  the  bird  was  helpless  from  fear ;  but 
as  suddenly  as  it  had  been  overcome  with  surprise,  it 
recovered  its  mental  equilibrium  and  darted  away.  Not- 
withstanding such  a  strange  adventure  on  its  part,  the 
tattler  quickly  returned  to  the  very  spot  where  it  had 
recently  been  sorely  frightened.  Its  actions  were  all 
peculiar.  It  did  not  bob  its  head  and  shoulders,  as  they 
constantly  do  when  on  the  meadows,  but  held  its  head 
well  up,  trailed  its  wings  and  spread  its  short  fan-like 
tail,  and  in  this  strange  fix  ran  in  short  circles  about 
the  long  grass,  just  beyond  the  moss-hidden  spring.  I 
thouirht  of  a  nest  and  commenced  a  careful  search, 
much  to  the  annoyance  of  the  nervous  little  tattler,  that 
now  kept  twenty  paces  distant,  and  was  often  hidden 
from  me  by  the  tall  weeds. 

It  seemed,  at  last,  as  though  I  must  have  scanned 
closely  every  square  foot  of  the  ground  within  a  reason- 
able distance  of  the  spring,  and  finding  nothing,  I  with- 
drew. As  soon  as  I  was  away,  the  tattler,  which  had  evi- 
dently been  watching  my  movements,  returned  to  the 


200  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

spot  near  tlie  spring  and  acted  just  as  strangely  as  be- 
fore. This  more  strongly  than  ever  aroused  my  curi- 
osity, and  I  resumed  the  search.  After  several  minutes 
I  at  length  touched  with  my  foot  an  enormous  bull- 
frog, which  gave  a  mighty  leap  and  a  loud  grunt  expres- 
sive of  displeasure.  It  had  been  scpatting  closely  in 
what  was  evidently  a  tattler's  nest,  a  structure  identical 
with  those  of  the  common  spotted  sand-piper  I  had  of- 
ten found.  This  threw  some  light  on  the  mystery. 
The  frog  had  been  up  to  mischief,  and  the  distressed 
wood-tattler  was  the  sufferer.  I  captured  the  criminal, 
which  was  suspiciously  aldermanic,  and  dissection  proved 
that  it  had  swallowed  four  young  tattlers,  just  emerged 
from  the  shell. 

Eunning  my  boat  under  a  cluster  of  hornbeams, 
draped  with  Yirginia  creeper  and  daintily  trimmed  with 
feathery  thalictrum,  I  was  quite  concealed  even  from 
any  inquisitive  creatures  that  might  pass,  and  yet  could 
assume  a  comfortable  position,  as  was  far  from  being 
the  case  when  watchino;  the  wood-tattler. 

Here,  with  birds,  trees,  flowers,  and  rippling  waters,  I 
proposed  to  take  the  world  very  easily  and  pursue  the 
most  delightful  occupation  that  is  possible  for  man — to 
follow  the  whim  of  tlie  moment. 

Feeling  equally  ready  to  meet  and  discuss  a  mam- 
moth or  a  mouse,  a  heron  or  a  humming-bird,  I  was 
certain  not  to  be  disappointed  whatever  appeared,  and 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  it  proved  to  be  a  mouse. 
From  the  opposite  bank  of  the  creek  it  crept  slowly 
over  the  muddy  shore  left  bare  by  the  receding  tide,  and 


MILL  CREEK.  oqi 

tlien  bravely  plunging  into  the  water,  swam  laboriously 
across  the  stream  and  directlv  towards  the  boat.     See- 

t/ 

ing  it  coming,  I  very  quietly  slipped  an  oar  in  its  course, 
and,  as  I  hoped  would  be  the  case,  upon  reaching  the 
oar  the  mouse  ceased  swimming,  and  crawled  up  the 
blade  until  it  was  cpiite  out  of  the  water,  when  it  gave 
a  vigorous  shake  and  commenced  licking  its  fur,  much 
as  a  cat  would  do  after  an  involuntary  bath. 

It  has  not  appeared  to  me  that  the  meadow-mouse  is 
an  amphibious  mammal,  yet  I  know  when  occasion  re- 
quires it  can  swim  for  a  considerable  distance,  and  in 
more  ways  than  one  proves  itself  by  no  means  hopeless 
when  sudden  freshets  submerge  its  subterranean  re- 
treats. I  have  so  often  been  assured  by  my  neighbors 
that  at  such  times  they  catch  to  the  first  bit  of  floatincr 
wood  which  they  find,  and  float  thereon  until  the  wind 
or  tide  carries  them  within  reach  of  dry  land,  that  I  can- 
not but  accept  the  statement ;  and  yet,  guided  solely  by 
my  own  observation,  I  believe  they  trust  far  more  to 
their  natatorial  powers  in  such  crises,  and  I  do  know  that 
such  a  freshet  as  that  of  June,  ISGO,  results  in  the  death 
by  drowning  of  hundreds  of  these  mice. 

Mr.  Ord,  who  described  this  species  of  Arvicola,  says : 
*'  This  species  is  fond  of  the  seeds  of  the  wild-oats  {Zi- 
zania  aqicatica),  and  is  found  in  the  autunui  in  those 
fresh-water  marshes  which  are  frequented  by  the  com- 
mon rail  {Gallinula  Carolina^  Lath).  AVhen  the  tide  is 
high  the  animal  may  be  observed  sitting  upon  the  fallen 
reeds,  patiently  waiting  fur  the  recession  of  the  water. 
From  its  2:)Osition  when  at  rest  it  has  much  the  appear- 
ance of  a  lump  of  mud,  and  is  commonly  mistaken  for 
9^ 


202  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

sncli  by  those  wlio  are  unacquainted  witli  its  habits.  It 
swims  and  dives  well"  This  would  indicate  that  some- 
where the  meadow-mouse  is  quite  as  amphibious  as  ter- 
restrial in  its  liabits ;  but  into  the  marsh,  only  a  few 
rods  distant,  with  its  acres  of  wild  -  rice,  or  "  oats  "  as 
Mr.  Ord  calls  it,  the  mice  nowadays  seldom  if  ever 
come.  The  pretty  picture  of  their  sitting  at  high  tide 
upon  tangled  blades  of  the  reeds,  I  have  never  seen ; 
and  why  should  they,  if  they  desired  to  go  elsewhere  ? 
Mr.  Ord  says,  "  it  swims  and  dives  well."  That  it  can 
swim  we  know.  Until  recently  I  had  never  seen  it  dive, 
but  did  not  question  its  ability  so  to  do  because  I  had 
not  seen  it. 

As  with  all  mammals,  their  proper  liabits,  as  indicated 
by  their  anatomical  structure,  are  not  closely  adhered 
to,  for  not  only  do  we  find  land  animals  at  home  in 
the  water  when  necessity  requires  it,  but  this  meadow- 
mouse,  so  generally  supposed  to  be  a  vegetarian,  is  by 
preference  as  carnivorous  as  a  cat.  During  the  early 
weeks  of  the  current  summer  I  found  tliem  to  be  sys- 
tematic egg-hunters,  and  that  they  had  destroyed  both 
the  eggs  and  young  of  song-sparrows,  brown  thrushes, 
and  one  nest  of  a  chewink.  If  I  have  ever,  in  earlier 
■writings,  spoken  a  good  word  for  this  little  mammal,  let 
me  recall  it.  A  creature  that  will  destroy  a  song-bird's 
nest  is  a  pest,  and  whether  furred,  feathered,  four-legged, 
two-legged,  or  a  small  boy,  ought  to  be  exterminated. 

It  is  probable  that  nests  placed  but  a  little  way  above 
the  ground  are  not  molested,  and  equally  j)i'obable  that 
the  persistent  persecution  suffered  by  the  song-sj^arrows 
and  brown  thrushes  has  induced  them  generally  to  aban- 


MILL  CREEK.  203 

don  tlie  practice  of  ])lacing  nests  upon  the  ground,  and 
to  locate  them  in  bushes  or  trees.  It  is  a  ratlier  curious 
fact  that  of  nineteen  song-sparrows'  nests  found  in  the 
lowlands,  where  meadow-mice  abounded,  fifteen  were  in 
bushes,  and  ranging  from  two  to  five  feet  from  the 
ground,  while  in  the  upland  fields,  where  there  are  very 
few  of  these  mice,  of  twenty-three  nests  found,  eleven 
were  on  the  ground,  but  all  so  i3laced  at  the  base  of 
some  rank  growth  that  their  detection  would  not  be 
easy.  Of  the  brown  thrush,  or  thrasher,  it  is  now  to  be 
said  that  it  has  pretty  generally  abandoned  nesting  upon 
the  ground.  It  is  one  of  several  species  that  is  partial 
to  a  locality  once  chosen,  and  will  return  to  it  year  after 
year  if  not  disturbed ;  and  now  the  densest  thicket  of 
smilax,  or  a  vine-hidden  branch  of  a  gnarly  oak,  is  far 
more  apt  to  be  chosen  than  any  spot  upon  the  ground. 
That  mice,  snakes,  and  all  egg -loving  creatures  have 
brought  about  this  change,  is  quite  likely  to  be  true. 
Indeed,  it  is  hard  to  understand  why  any  of  our  small 
inland  birds  should  ever  select  such  a  locality  as  the  bare 
ground,  yet  one  little  sparrow,  the  vesper -bird,  never 
builds  anywhere  else,  and  escaj^es  the  many  dangers  that 
beset  it,  for  no  bird  is  more  abundant,  both  young  and 
old. 

To  return  to  my  Mill  Creek  meadow-mouse — marsh- 
campagnol,  as  God  man  calls  it.  After  it  had  straight- 
ened its  fur  and  had  so  far  recovered  from  fatigue  as  to 
feel  equal  to  continuing  its  journey,  it  started  up  the 
oar  towards  the  boat,  and  apparently  not  until  it  liad 
reached  the  gunwale  did  it  notice  me.  Its  sudden  stop- 
ping, that  nearly  caused  it  to  fall  over  backward,  was 


204  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

very  funny,  but  not  more  so  than  its  quick  recovery 
from  astonishment,  and  prompt  resolve  to  consider  the 
remarkable  situation.  It  sat  upright  on  its  haunches, 
like  a  marmot,  and  looked  in  every  direction,  but  seeing 
no  other  dry  route  to  shore  than  over  the  boat,  and  not 
desiring  a  second  swim,  it  cautiously  approached  until 
within  a  few  inches  of  me,  w^ien  it  gave  a  shrill  squeak 
and  broke  into  a  run.     In  a  moment  it  was  out  of  sight. 

An  empty  nest  of  a  wood-thrush,  directly  above  my 
head,  recalled  another  wild  mouse  that  is  exceedingly 
abundant  on  the  wooded  bluff  that  faces  the  terrace. 
I  refer  to  the  white-footed  or  deer -mouse.  The  nest 
above  me  recalled  them,  because  in  October  very  many 
of  the  larger  birds'-nests,  esj^ecially  if  in  tliickets,  will  be 
found  to  have  been  converted  into  cosey  winter  retreats 
by  these  beautiful  little  mammals. 

]^otwithstanding  my  having  given  much  attention  to 
the  subject,  autumn  after  autumn,  for  several  years,  I 
have  never  been  able  to  clear  up  several  points  in  the 
histories  of  these  bush-nests  of  the  white-footed  mice. 
In  the  first  place,  how  far  are  these  old  birds'-nests  re- 
modelled ;  and  again,  are  not  a  certain  number  of  these 
mouse  retreats  constructed  de  novo,  the  builders  using 
the  abandoned  nest  of  the  bird  for  the  exterior  of  the 
new  structure  ? 

In  the  months  of  October  and  IRovember  of  tlie  ]3ast 
year  I  examined  a  series  of  forty-two  bush-nests,  as  I 
prefer  to  call  them.  Every  one  was  materially  different 
from  an  ordinary  bird's -nest,  none  being  open  above, 
nor  having  the  lining  that  birds  use.     They  were  all  oc- 


MILL  CREEK.  205 

cnpied,  and  I  believe  tlie  full  number  of  individuals  oc- 
cupying them  was  ascertained.  In  most  cases  I  captured 
every  individual — and  released  tliem. 

Of  the  series,  thirty-one  nests  were  placed  in  a  dense 
tangle  of  smilax  or  green -brier.  Kone  was  near  the 
surface  of  the  thicket,  but  iisnallv  about  one-third  the 
distance  from  its  uppermost  surface  ;  for  instance,  if  the 
thicket  was  six  feet  high,  the  nest  would  be  at  an  eleva- 
tion of  four  feet,  or  very  near  it.  Tliis  was  a  very  nni- 
form  feature  of  the  nests  examined,  and  if  the  mice 
merely  occupy  old  nests  of  birds  where  they  find  them, 
indicates  a  nniformity  in  the  matter  of  nest-buikling  of 
which  I  was  not  aware. 

Again,  the  smilax  was  so  very  dense,  or  closely  inter- 
woven, that  it  seemed  to  me  impossible  that  a  bird  as 
large  as  a  robin  or  cat-bird  could  have  j^enetrated  it. 
Perhaps  the  continuous  growth  of  the  vine,  after  the 
birds  abandoned  the  nest,  made  it  inaccessible  to  tliem 
b}^  early  autumn.  I  did  determine  one  interesting  fact 
about  the  impenetrability  of  tliese  growths  of  green- 
brier —  that  the  small  hawks  found  sparrows  and  the 
mice  quite  inaccessible  when  they  took  refuge  therein. 
In  one  case,  a  sharp -shinned  hawk,  a  little  more  rash 
than  nsual,  struck  at  a  snow-bird  as  it  dived  into  the 
smikax,  and  instead  of  capturing  it,  was  himself  hope- 
lessly entangled.  At  least,  before  he  could  extricate  liim- 
self,  I  was  able  to  secure  liis  hawkship. 

Four  of  the  forty-two  nests  were  among  blackberry 
canes,  and  this  growth  also  was  exceedingly  dense  and 
difficult  to  penetrate.  The  remaining  seven  nests  were 
in  a  mixed  tangle  of  Virginia  creeper  and  grape.    These 


206  WASTE-LAXD  WAXDERIXGS. 

seven  nests  were  all  at  a  greater  elevation  than  any 
found  in  sniilax  or  other  thorn-bearing  growths,  onB  be- 
ing thirteen  feet  from  the  ground. 

All  these  nests  were  distinctly  globular  in  shape.  The 
original  structures  were  not  merely  covered  at  the  top,  but 
distinctly  arched  over,  so  as  to  give  a  greater  capacity  to 
the  nests  than  when  occupied  by  their  original  builders. 

Careful  examination  convinced  me  that  twenty-nine 
were  the  preceding  summer's  nests  of  cat-birds,  wood- 
thrushes,  and  robins;  those  of  the  latter  not  being  so 
popular,  apparently,  on  account  of  their  partial  or  com- 
plete mud-lining.  I  think  this,  because  I  found  several 
of  these  nests  that  were  not  utilized,  even  when  so  strong 
an  incentive  was  brought  to  play  as  the  removal  of  the 
nearest  available  nests  of  other  birds,  which  they  had 
chosen,  and  from  which  they  were  forced  to  retreat. 

The  foundation  and  lower  halves  of  the  sides  of  these 
twenty-nine  nests  were  unaltered;  and  many  appeared 
as  if  a  smaller  nest  had  been  bodily  removed,  inverted, 
and  so  used  as  a  roof  to  the  lower  structure.  Eight 
others  were  quite  unlike  birds'-nests  in  their  construction. 
The  interlacing  of  the  twigs  was  not  like  the  ordinary 
work  of  birds,  and  the  diameter  of  each  one  of  this  se- 
ries was  nearly  one-third  smaller  than  that  of  an  ordi- 
nary cat-bird's  nest.  Three  of  them  I  picked  to  pieces, 
and  the  lining  was  small  feathers  and  the  silk  of  the 
milk- weed,  materials  not  used  by  any  one  of  the  thrushes 
I  have  named ;  and,  indeed,  the  silk  of  the  milk-weed 
would  not  be  available  until  nesting  was  over,  unless  a 
little  of  the  preceding  year's  could  be  gathered,  which  is 
not  probable. 


MILL  CREEK.  207 

^evertlieless,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that  these 
mice  do  build  bush-nests  without  at  least  the  base  of  a 
bird's-nest  as  a  starting-point.  Yet  why  they  should 
not  does  not  readily  appear.  They  build  beautifully 
constructed  nests  in  hollow  \o^s  and  under  bits  of  boards 
and  old  tin  pans,  carrying  the  materials  therefor  from 
quite  distant  points ;  so  why  not  carry  them  up  a  few 
feet  into  tangled  growths,  offering  almost  as  sure  a  foot- 
ing as  the  ground  itself  ?  One  difficulty  that  besets  the 
investigator  is  that  these  creatures  do  next  to  nothing 
by  daylight.  Hours  of  patient  waiting,  during  dark  days 
and  throughout  the  gloaming,  have  availed  me  nothing. 
As  a  day-time  feature  of  our  woods,  I  know  of  no  sleepier 
creatures  than  a  family  of  white-footed  mice. 

Judging  from  the  number  of  nests  mentioned — another 
such  series  might  give  different  results — these  bush  re- 
treats are  usually  modified  birds'-nests,  but  in  some  in- 
stances the  modification  appears  to  be  extended  to  j^rac- 
tically  the  construction  of  a  new  nest. 

A  feature  of  much  interest  that  is  worthy  of  detailed 
mention  concerns  the  occupants  of  these  nests  rather 
than  the  structures  themselves.  Tliirty-six  nests  con- 
tained each  a  female  mouse  with  a  litter  of  young,  either 
old  enough  to  run  alone  or  clinging  to  the  teats  of  their 
dam.  In  not  one  case  did  1  see  a  male  mouse ;  while  in 
the  other  six  nests  each  contained  a  sini^le  adult  male 
mouse,  and  no  other  occupant.  This  appears  to  me  the 
more  peculiar  experience,  as  in  several  nests  placed  upon 
the  ground  both  parents  were  found  in  the  same  nest  in 
every  instance.  Still,  it  is  not  safe  to  draw  any  conclu- 
sions without  hundreds  of  nests  arc  carefully  examined. 


208  WASTE-LAND  WAXDERIXGS. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the  mice  when  forced  to 
quit  their  airy  quarters  in  a  smilax  thicket.  Be  the 
vine  ever  so  slender,  they  took  no  uncertain  steps,  but 
tripped  lightly  down  from  point  to  point,  always  de- 
scending and  never  arriving  at  a  confusing  corner,  and 
so  at  a  loss  as  to  wdiat  direction  next  to  take.  One  fe- 
male mouse  with  two  young  ones  clinging  to  her  teats 
turned  just  twenty  corners  before  she  reached  the  ground. 
Once  there,  she  suddenly  disappeared.  This  is  always 
the  case,  but  just  wdiere  they  go  when  they  reach  terra 
firma  remains  to  be  shown.  The  prevalent  impression 
is  that  every  mouse  has  a  subterranean  retreat  directly 
beneath  the  bush-nest,  and  passes  from  one  to  the  other 
as  fancy  dictates.  Their  actions,  indeed,  seem  to  bear 
out  the  truth  of  this,  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  dis- 
cover these  supposed  underground  retreats.  In  some 
cases  it  was  clearly  impossible  that  such  should  exist. 
That  they  take  refuge,  at  times,  in  the  intricate  tunnels 
of  the  meadow-mice,  I  know,  and  that  any  burrow  would 
be  entered,  when  these  mice  are  driven  from  the  bushes, 
is  quite  certain ;  that  they  construct  one  expressly  for 
such  a  contingency  is  quite  another  question. 

Why,  it  will  probably  be  asked,  do  so  many  of  these 
mice  quit  their  cosey  quarters  in  or  on  the  ground,  and 
which  have  served  them  every  purpose,  and  take  all  this 
trouble  to  build  a  new  home  in  the  bushes  for  the  win- 
ter ?  It  has  been  suggested  that  the  old  nest  w^as  worn 
out,  and  better  fitted  for  entomological  research  than  for 
hesperomoid  habitation.  I  had  myself  thought  of  this, 
but  have  never  detected  such  abundant  evidences  of  this 
disastrous  condition  as  would  warrant  the  removal ;  and 


MILL  CREEK.  oqq 

certainly  tlie  fur  of  these  creatures  would  curry,  in  all 
cases,  a  sufficient  number  of  acari  to  bring  about,  in  a 
short  time,  a  repetition  of  the  plague. 

The  supposed  excessive  dampness  during  autumn  and 
winter  of  many  situations  where  the  summer  nests  of 
the  mice  abound  has  also  been  urged  as  a  probable  rea- 
son for  the  marked  exodus  that,  as  we  have  seen,  occurs 
on  the  approach  of  cooler  and  wetter  weather ;  but  the 
exposure  to  sudden  summer  showers  would,  in  this  re- 
spect, be  more  objectionable  than  the  steadier  rains  and 
gradual  melting  of  snow  during  winter,  when,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  they  are  less  apt  to  suffer  from  water  en- 
croaching upon  their  nests  than  at  other  times,  the  frozen 
condition  of  the  rough  surface  tending  to  carry  off  the 
w^ater  and  prevent  its  soaking  into  the  ground.  I  have 
never  found  a  nest  that  could  not  have  been  better 
guarded  from  the  damps  of  winter  than  from  those  ter- 
rific cloud-bursts  that  recall  the  vivid  description  in 
Genesis  of  the  Koachian  deluo-e.  Durin":  such  rain- 
falls,  for  which  August  is  noted,  very  many  white-footed 
mice  are  drowned. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  determine  how  late  in  the 
spring  they  remain  in  these  nests  in  the  bushes;  but 
some  time  before  the  arrival  of  the  cat-birds  and  thrushes 
they  liave  all  sought  again  their  earth  retreats  or  cosey 
nests  in  prostrate  hollow  logs,  where  they  quietly  pass 
their  summers. 

The  slanting  rays  of  the  slowly  setting  sun  penetrated 
the  shallow  waters  on  either  side  of  the  boat ;  and  so 
gentle  was  the  current  that  I  had  the  wished-for  oppor- 


210  WASTE-LAND  AVANDERINGS. 

tunity  to  observe  the  many  small  fishes  that  were  con- 
stantly passing  and  repassing  there,  and  which  also 
were  congregated  upon  the  smooth  sandy  bottom  of  the 
stream.  The  smaller  minnows  were  generally  too  rest- 
less to  be  studied  satisfactorily,  and  indeed  they  do  not 
offer  much  attraction  to  the  student;  but  fortunately 
there  was  a  goodly  com23any  of  little  darters  or  etheosto- 
moids,  and  these  were  pitcliing  about  over  the  rippled 
sands  in  so  sprightly  a  manner  that  I  gave  most  of  the 
rem.aining  hours  of  daylight  to  them.  They  were  all  of 
one  species — the  common  tessellated  darter — chestnut- 
brown,  and  covered  with  inky-black  lines,  dots,  and  little 
squares ;  and  when  resting  upon  the  mottled  sandy  mud 
were  very  difficult  to  detect.  These  fish  are  not  pretty, 
but  what  they  lack  in  attractive  coloring  is  compensated 
for  by  the  methods,  all  their  own,  of  their  lives.  As  the 
w^ater  was  but  a  foot  in  depth,  and  steadily  decreasing, 
I  found  many  individuals  were  lying  on  the  sand  direct- 
ly beneath  me,  as  I  leaned  over  the  gunwales.  I  found 
very  few  by  looking  for  them,  but  many  by  waiting  un- 
til they  gave  a  start  and  then  watching  where  they  set- 
tled. Often  several  would  be  almost  in  contact,  but  there 
was  no  concert  of  action  as  when  small  shiners  or  cypri- 
noids  are  associated.  Occasionally  two,  and  sometimes 
three  or  four,  would  see  the  same  object  move,  and 
within  the  fraction  of  a  second  all  would  j)Ounce  upon 
it.  This  seemed  to  lead  to  no  ill-tempered  demonstra- 
tions on  the  part  of  those  which  were  unsuccessful  in 
capturing  the  coveted  morsel. 

As  is  well  known,  darters  are  poor  swimmers.    With 
a  great  effort  they  can  move  ahead  for  a  foot  or  two, 


MILL  CREEK.  211 

and  then,  unable  to  remain  afloat,  tliey  come  to  rest  upon 
tlic  bottom  of  the  stream.  If  the  bottom  be  of  sand  or 
sandy  mud,  the  imprint  of  tlieir  ventral  and  pectoral  fins 
can  be  seen  ;  and  always  when  they  make  a  plunge  for 
some  minute  crustacean  or  insect,  the  print  of  their  2)ig- 
like  snout  can  always  be  seen. 

I  began  a  series  of  simple  experiments  by  dropping 
coarse  grains  of  sand  into  the  water  directly  in  front  of 
them.  Tliese  they  seemed  to  recognize  as  such,  and  did 
not  heed  them  beyond  approaching  a  little  nearer  to  the 
spot  where  the  sand-grains  lodged,  or  turning  so  as  to 
directly  face  the  spot  if  the  grains  fell  a  little  to  one 
side  or  the  other.  Continuing  to  watch  the  darters 
closely,  I  found  that  this  was  a  customary  movement 
with  reference  to  all  animate  objects  upon  which  they 
fed.  The  first  motion  a  water -mite  or  cypris  might 
make  caused  the  darter  to  assume  a  make-ready  attitude  ; 
the  next  assured  the  fish  that  the  object  moving  was 
alive,  and  immediately  it  was  pounced  upon. 

Having  a  quantity  of  mustard-seed  shot  with  me,  I 
conceived  the  plan  of  controlling  the  movements  of 
these  fishes  by  dropping  single  grains  of  it  in  front  of 
one  or  two  near  together,  and  while  they  were  waiting 
for  the  grains  to  move  a  second  time,  bring  up  others 
that  were  behind.  Experience  showed  that  theory  and 
practice  were  very  different,  in  this  as  in  many  another 
matter,  but  finally  I  got  seven  in  a  row,  and  by  placing 
a  row  of  shot-grains  on  a  stick  and  letting  them  fall  over- 
board together,  I  kept  these  seven  together  and  without 
confusion ;  they  faced  to  the  right  or  left  or  advanced,  in 
obedience  to  my  order  expressed  by  the  dropping  of  the 


213  WASTE-LAND  WAXDERIXGS. 

shot.  While  thus  engaged  a  school  of  small  minnows 
came  trooping  along  and  disturbed  the  scene.  They 
darted  after  the  shot  that  I  dropped  among  them  and 
scattered  the  darters,  so  that  I  could  not  regather  them. 
After  tarrying  a  few  moments  the  minnows  passed  un- 
der the  boat,  and  when  out  of  sight  I  threw  a  few  grains 
of  shot  into  the  water  with  some  violence.  Immediate- 
ly they  returned  as  one  body,  and  searched  for  the 
supposed  food  which  they  heard  but  could  not  have 
seen. 

I  have  often  been  puzzled  by  similar  concerted  action 
on  the  part  of  roach,  and  how  it  is  accomj)lished  is  not 
readily  explained.  It  has  been  said  to  be  due  to  exj^e- 
rience  and  memory;  but  how?  Can  experience  have 
anything  to  do  with  it  ?  It  begins  with  their  earliest 
infancy,  and  unquestionably  some  means  must  exist  of 
conveying  the  fact  that  a  companion  fish,  behind  his 
fellows  and  therefore  unseen,  has  changed  his  course. 
What  this  method  of  conveying  intelligence  is  remains 
to  be  determined.  Experience,  at  least,  can  be  ruled 
out  of  court.  May  it  be  that  the  hindmost  of  a  school 
of  fishes,  suddenly  reversing  its  position,  gives  an  im- 
pression to  the  water  that  is  promptly  felt  by  those  im- 
mediately in  advance?  Probably  if  but  two  or  three 
fishes  were  swimming  single  file,  and  the  hindmost  one 
turned  about,  the  others  might  not  notice  it  at  once  ;  but 
when  there  is  a  large  school  of  these  gregarious  fishes, 
then  they  swim  many  abreast,  and  an  object  falling  be- 
hind the  school  would  be  seen  by  several,  who  turning 
together  would  give  a  peculiar  motion  to  the  water  that 
"would  be  felt  by  the  preceding  individuals.     If  to  re- 


MILL  CREEK.  213 

member  that  tliis  impression  means  that  the  fishes  be- 
hind have  chane^ed  tlieir  course,  then  I  can  airree  with 
my  critic;  but  then  wliat  of  those  very  young  fishes 
who  have  had  no  experience  ? 

A  repetition  of  tlie  experhnent  witli  five  sliot  sliowed 
me  quite  conchisively  that  these  Httle  fish  cannot  be 
fooled  indefinitely  by  such  means.  After  a  reasonable 
amount  of  patient  waiting  for  the  falling  shot  to  prove 
its  vitality,  the  darters  become  satisfied  that  it  is  inani- 
mate, and  pay  no  further  attention  to  it.  Here  we  have 
a  genuine  exhibition  of  the  operations  of  "  experience," 
and  a  proof  that  if  fish  may  be  temporarily  fooled  they 
are  not  necessarily  foolish. 

My  second  experiment  ended  rather  curiously.  Ee- 
membering  having  noticed  in  a  meadow-pool  vast  num- 
bers of  water -fleas,  I  left  my  boat  and  proceeded  to 
gather  a  quantity.  Eeturning,  I  inverted  the  glass  jar 
wdth  its  indefinite  thousands  of  fleas,  and  when  it  was 
nearly  at  the  bottom  of  the  creek,  removed  the  cover 
and  pulled  up  the  jar.  Immediately  all  the  darters 
were  wild  wuth  excitement,  and  whirled  about  in  the 
most  remarkable  manner,  and  then,  before  I  could  ascer- 
tain any  reason  for  so  doing,  suddenly  vanished.  I  was 
thoroughly  astonished,  until  I  saw  a  pair  of  voracious 
turtles  rooting  up  the  mud  where  the  bus)'  darters  had 
been.  These  carnivorous  creatures  had  seen  the  com- 
motion, and  either  desired  to  be  guests  at  tlie  darters' 
feast  or  to  dine  off  the  fish.  Either  case  would  doubt- 
less have  pleased  the  turtles.  Where  the  fish  hid  them- 
selves so  quickly  and  effectually  I  could  not  ascer- 
tain. 


2U  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

Thomas  CamiDanius,  in  Lis  quaint  little  history  of 
New  Sweden,  credits  the  Delaware  with  two  fishes  I 
have  not  yet  been  able  to  capture,  to  see,  or  hear  of  as 
captured  or  seen  by  others.  Campanius  says  :  ''  Oppo- 
site to  Poaetquessingh — which,  I  take  it,  is  not  far  from 
here  —  there  is  a  kind  of  fish  with  great  long  teeth, 
which  the  Indians  call  Manitto^  which  means  spirit  or 
devil ;  it  plunges  very  deep  into  the  water,  and  spouts 
it  up  like  a  whale ;  the  like  is  not  to  be  seen  elsewhere 
in  the  river."  It  is  scarcely  likely  that  such  a  remark- 
able creature  will  ever  be  found  in  Crosswicks  Creek, 
and  so,  wondering  what  our  author  meant,  let  us  turn 
to  his  second  description.  He  says  :  "  There  is  here  an 
abundance  of  a  certain  kind  of  fish,  vrhich  the  Swedes 
call  tarm-fish  (gut-fish).  It  has  no  head,  and  is  like  a 
small  rope,  one  quarter  of  a  yard  in  length,  and  four 
fingers  thick,  and  somewhat  bowed  in  the  middle.  At 
each  of  the  four  corners  there  runs  out  a  small  gut,  or 
bowel,  three  yards  long,  and  thick  as  coarse  twine  :  Avitli 
two  of  these  guts  they  suck  in  their  food,  and  with  the 
two  others  eject  it  from  them.  They  can  put  out  these 
guts  at  pleasure,  and  draw  them  in  again,  so  that  they 
are  entirely  concealed,  by  which  means  they  can  move 
their  body  about  as  they  like,  which  is  truly  wonderful 
to  look  upon.  They  are  enclosed  in  a  house,  or  shell  of 
brown  horn." 

Here  our  author  refers,  I  take  it,  to  the  egg-cases  of 
skates,  and  as  a  description,  it  "  is  wonderful  to  look 
upon."  Campanius  doubtless  saw  these  somewhere  in 
the  lower  bay,  and  received  at  second-hand  all  that  he 
finds  to  say  about  them. 


MILL  CREEK.  215 

Such  palpably  absurd  descriptions  of  animals  found 
in  the  Delaware  are  of  some  interest  to  the  naturalist, 
in  that  they  open  up  the  question  whether,  even  so  re- 
cently as  two  centuries,  marine  forms  may  not,  far  more 
frequently  than  now,  have  wandered  np  the  river  very 
near  or  quite  to  the  termination  of  the  tidal  portion  of 
the  stream  ? 

I  have  been  told  by  very  old  men  that  the  common 
harbor  porpoise  was  seen  nearly  every  year  as  far  from 
the  bay  as  Bristol  and  Burlington ;  the  seal  is  still  no 
stranger,  and  a  skate  was  taken  near  Bordentown  in 
1860,  and  exhibited  in  the  Trenton  markets.  These 
now  strictly  marine  forms  can  live  in  fresh  water,  as  we 
have  seen — why  may  not  the  navigation  of  the  river  by 
steam-vessels,  and  the  general  disturbance  of  its  waters 
by  so  many  means,  have  driven  them  oceanward,  as  the 
general  settlement  of  the  river's  shores  caused  all  the 
larger  mammals  to  retire  ? 

Mill  Creek  is  the  only  running  water,  I  believe,  where 
the  pretty  water- shield  is  to  be  found,  except  in  the 
mill-ponds  scattered  at  intervals  along  the  valley  of 
Mechen-tschiholens-sipu ;  but  as  the  prettiest  of  mill- 
ponds  is  necessarily  somewhat  artificial,  I  do  not  con- 
sider them,  visit  them,  or  feel  interested  particularly  in 
what  I  hear  of  them. 

Of  this  pretty  water-plant,  the  Brasenia,  I  gathered 
a  number  of  floating,  delicate  leaves,  and  endeavored  to 
secure  the  entire  stem  also,  but  this  was  too  difficult  a 
task  for  an  August  afternoon.  The  under  side  of  the 
leaf  and  the  stem  arc  purplish  brown,  and  were  covered 


216  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

with  a  translucent  jelly,  embedded  in  wliicli  were  mill- 
ions of  what  I  took  to  be  insects'  eggs.  Thej  certainly 
had  that  appearance.  I  was  far  more  interested  to  find 
that  usually  beneath  each  leaf  of  the  water-shield  there 
was  hiding  a  little  pike.  The  largest  was  not  two  inches 
in  length.  When  disturbed  they  swam  a  few  inches, 
and  seemed  wholly  "  at  sea "  if  there  was  not  another 
leaf  near  by  to  afford  them  shelter.  They  were  remark- 
ably tame  or  stupid,  and  I  caught  several  with  my  hand- 
net.  One  was  far  more  obese  than  the  others,  so  I  sacri- 
ficed him  in  the  cause  of  science.  In  his  stomach  was 
a  minute  cyprinoid,  about  one-half  an  inch  in  length, 
which  had  been  swallowed  but  a  very  short  time.  I 
should  have  been  glad  to  find  a  still  smaller  fish  in  the 
stomach  of  the  cyprinoid,  but  —  I  didn't.  Xot  many 
years  ago  I  did,  however,  find  something  more  marvel- 
lous than  this  would  have  been.  I  caught  an  unusually 
large  mud-minnow,  which  had  swallowed  a  pike ;  and  in 
the  pike's  stomach  was  a  small  mud-minnow,  and  in  its 
stomach  were  the  remains  of  a  ])ike.  Four  fish  as  one ! 
This  will  do ;  and  were  it  not  for  the  prejudice  against 
fish  stories,  I  would  beat  this  earlier  record  of  my  own 
by  narrating  a  more  recent  occurrence. 

While  speaking  of  the  pike,  let  me  add  the  following 
from  a  recent  publication.  It  quite  accords  with  my 
own  impressions  about  their  intelligence,  as  compared 
with  other  fishes — even  the  black  bass. 

"  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  pike  is  decidedly 
an  exception  to  the  rule  that  fish  have  little  or  no  in- 
telligence. Even  the  size  of  his  brain  is  worthy  of  re- 
spect.    Its  proportionate  size  as  compared  to  the  rest  of 


MILL  CREEK.  217 

the  body  is  as  1  to  1300 ;  in  the  shark,  whose  intelli- 
gence has  so  often  been  vaunted,  it  is  only  as  1  to  2500 ; 
while  in  the  tunny  it  is  but  as  1  to  3700.  The  only 
thing  that  dulls  the  pike's  intelligence  is  his  greed ;  l)ut 
even  this  may  perhaps  only  be  caused  by  an  overween- 
ing confidence  in  liis  own  gastric  juices.  Like  niany 
other  voracious  animals,  to  swallow  seems  to  be  his  only 
joy  ;  palate  he  has  little  or  none." 

Pushing  the  boat  a  little  nearer  to  the  channel,  I  came 
to  a  long  narrow  strip  of  dark  green  growth  that  com- 
pletely covered  the  bottom  of  the  creek  where  it  grew, 
but  did  not  reach  to  the  surface.  It  was  the  eel-grass. 
It  was  slimy  to  the  touch,  but  not  coated  with  jelly,  like 
the  water-shield.  Some  of  the  leaves  were  gritty  from 
the  thick  studding  of  minute  shells. 

The  water  w^as  sufficiently  clear  to  enable  me  to  see 
the  grass  plainly,  so  I  peered  for  some  time  into  the 
dense  growth,  which  moved  gracefully  with  a  life-like, 
wavy  motion,  as  the  current  bore  its  free  ends  up  the 
stream.  Like  all  dense,  aqnatic  vegetation,  it  harbors 
many  fishes,  and  it  is  surprising  how  great  a  variety  will 
often  issue  from  their  hiding-places  when  once  they 
have  become  accustomed  to  the  presence  of  the  boat 
above  them.  For  a  while  to-day  I  saw  nothing  but 
waving  grass ;  then  an  eel  peered  forth  and  quickly 
withdrew  to  the  waving  wilderness ;  then  a  number  of 
sticklebacks  rushed  out,  and  as  quickly  returned ;  then 
in  turn  came  a  water-snake,  a  turtle,  a  perfect  SNvarm  of 
water-bugs  of  large  size,  and  finally,  as  a  fitting  close 
of  the  day's  exhibit,  a  number  of  beautiful  silv^ery  bill- 
fish. 
10 


218  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

Of  the  entire  range  of  fish-life  of  the  river  or  its  trib- 
utaries there  is  no  one  S23ecies  more  attractive  than  this. 
Its  manner  is  as  peculiarly  its  own  as  its  anatomical 
features  are  unique,  and  he  who  doubts  that  fishes  play, 
just  as  children  do,  should  watch  a  number  of  these 
fishes.  In  the  first  place,  they  never  go  about  singly. 
Always  there  are  a  dozen  or  more,  and  often  as  many 
as  a  hundred  are  seen.  When  they  come  into  the  creek 
and  get  among  the  eel-grass  the  fun  commences.  They 
glide  in  and  out  of  the  waving  ribbons  of  the  slender 
water-weed  with  all  the  gracefulness  of  the  undulations 
of  the  plant.  Yery  frequently  they  chase  each  other 
or  play  a  game  of  hide-and-seek,  and  however  fast  and 
furious  the  fun,  their  gracefulness  of  movement  is  never 
lost.  They  seldom  are  at  rest.  Perhaps,  as  is  said  of 
carp,  they  never  slee23.  Whether  swimming  onward,  as 
though  only  anxious  to  reach  a  distant  j)oint,  or  play- 
fully wandering  about  some  attractive  spot,  the  body  al- 
ways has  that  sigmoid  curve  which  is  so  attractive,  and 
tends  even  to  lessen  the  ugliness  of  the  most  repulsive 
forms  of  animal  life.  All  know  how  very  different  is 
a  gracefully  coiled  serpent  from  one  that  is  stretched 
out  in  a  nearly  straight  line. 

The  bill  fishes  have  one  habit,  quite  frequently  in- 
dulged in,  which  I  am  not  aware  is  common  to  any 
other  species  occurring  in  our  waters — that  of  turning 
over  upon  their  backs  while  rapidly  swimming,  and  in 
this  position  continuing  their  course  for  some  distance. 
Had  I  not  often  witnessed  this,  during  the  past  three 
years,  I  should  have  considered  it  an  error  in  observa- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  reporter.     To-day,  the  many 


MILL  CREEK.  219 

billfisli  that  I  saw  were  not  so  disposed  to  gymnastics 
as  is  often  the  case,  and  all  remained  very  properly  with 
their  backs  to  the  sky ;  but  1  have  seen  half  a  dozen  at 
once,  in  a  school  of  perhaps  twenty,  swim  in  circles  in 
tills  reversed  position,  and  less  commonly  in  a  nearly 
direct  line.  It  is,  I  believe,  merely  a  peculiarity  of  their 
own,  when  engaged  in  a  game  of  romps. 

The  sun  has  long  since  sunk  beneath  the  horizon. 
Even  the  topmost  twigs  of  the  tall  liquidambars  are  no 
longer  gilded  by  the  stray  beams  that  struggled  through 
the  sunset  clouds.  The  gloaming  has  set  in.  The  dark- 
ened waters  hide  their  treasures ;  and  it  is  fitting,  after 
so  full  a  day,  to  be  afield,  and  homeward  bound,  rather 
than  afloat. 

This  may  be  true,  but  the  truth  is,  I  am  always  eager 
to  go  to  and  never  ready  to  leave,  for  the  day,  my  little 
boat,  that  for  years  has  carried  me  safely  so  many  miles 
up  and  down  the  charming  bends  and  winsome  reaches 
of  Mechen-tschiholens-sipu. 

It  was  time  to  return  home,  yet  I  could  not  make  np 
my  mind  to  start.  .  Was  there  not  yet  something  that  I 
could  watch  even  by  the  gloaming's  uncertain  and  stead- 
ily waning  light  ?  The  full  moon  was  rising,  and  there 
was  every  prospect  of  a  perfect  night.  At  least  for  a 
little  longer  I  would  remain.  Had  I  not  need  of  food 
and  sleep,  to  have  sat  quietly  in  my  boat  until  the  day 
dawned  would  have  been  no  hardship.  Behind  me,  for 
I  was  now  on  the  main  creek  once  more,  rose  the  steep 
bluff  that  forms  the  south  bank  of  the  stream,  and  the 
shadows  cast  by  the  magnificent  trees  that  covered  it 


220  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

had  wooed  the  birds  of  the  neighborhood  to  rest  there- 
in, until  now  their  dream-songs  floated  creekward,  and 
blended  with  the  ceaseless  hum  and  rattle  of  the  tireless 
crickets.  Before  me  the  never -resting  current  of  the 
stream  glittered  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  vast  marshy 
meadow  beyond  was  a  wilderness  of  weeds  teeming 
with  noisy  life.  From  the  tall  trees  upon  the  bluff  there 
came  a  troop  of  noisy  herons,  that  after  circling  high 
overhead  and  sailing  far  over  the  meadows,  returned  to 
the  shallows  of  the  creek,  and  ranged  themselves  in  con- 
venient shadows  in  wait  for  fish.  Would  it  not  be  worth 
the  labor  to  watch  them  through  the  night  ? 

From  the  rippling  waters  there  leaped  many  a  fish ; 
even  what  I  took  to  be  a  sturgeon  plashed  and  rolled  over 
the  sand-bar,  to  the  terror  of  all  smaller  fry,  as  their  bod- 
ies glancing  in  the  moonlight  proved.  Every  projecting 
stick  supported  its  full  complement  of  turtles.  Musk- 
rats  crossed  and  recrossed  the  creek,  leaving  long  lines 
of  silvery  bubbles  in  their  wakes.  The  whippoorwills 
were  holding  high  carnival  on  every  prostrate  tree  in 
the  woods,  and  over  all  there  fell  a  shower  of  uncertain 
light  as  the  myriads  of  fire-flies  were  wafted  hither  and 
yon  by  every  passing  breeze.  Would  it  not  be  worth 
the  while  to  watch  all  these  even  until  dawn  ? 

K"ow,  I  have  always  contended  that  animals  of  all 
kinds  were  unreliable  weather  prophets,  and  not  a  creat- 
ure of  the  many  that  were  abroad  to-night  but  expected 
to  remain.  Why  not  ?  There  was  no  indication  of  any 
change  in  the  weather,  and  be  it  man  or  insect,  all  was 
favorable  for  an  outing,  with  no  other  shelter  than  the 
starry  sky.     Would  that  I  possessed  a  pocket  aneroid. 


MILL  CREEK.  221 

rather  tlian  an  indifferent  timepiece.  Without  a  mo- 
ment's ^varning  a  raw  east  wind  swept  across  the  water 
and  sent  a  chill  to  my  very  bones.  The  crickets  ceased 
to  stridulate,  the  whippoorwills  to  sing ;  the  moping 
herons  rose,  with  impatient  cries,  and  sought  the  shelter 
of  the  woods.  In  a  minute,  at  most,  there  was  the 
fearful,  unnerving  change  from  sound  to  silence.  I  hur- 
ried to  a  safe  shelter  for  my  boat.  The  dipping  of  my 
oars  was  a  hollow,  mocking  sound.  I  was  as  one  de- 
serted, absolutely  alone,  and  it  was  with  a  sweet  sense  of 
relief  that  I  reached  the  highway  and  neared  the  habi- 
tations of  man. 

Quickly  following  in  the  track  of  that  chilling  wind 
came  up  from  the  east  a  great  bank  of  leaden  clouds, 
and  before  I  reached  the  threshold  of  my  home,  the 
steady  pattering  of  rain-drops  on  the  oaks  foretold,  in  no 
uncertain  terms,  the  coming  of  a  storm. 


223  WASTE-LAND  WANDEKINGS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  LANDING. 

Taxing  a  most  erratic  course,  a  flock  of  cow- birds, 
with  silent,  undulatorj  flight,  preceded  me  this  morning 
on  mv  way  to  the  creek.  They  bruslied  the  dew  from 
tlie  taller  bushes  as  they  progressed,  and  caused  the  clus- 
tered growths  to  look  inky-black  in  contrast  w^ith  the 
dew-gemmed  grasses  beneath  and  drip]3ing  branches  of 
the  trees  overhead.  The  effect  was  very  striking.  Until 
the  sun  had  dried  every  twig,  the  route  of  this  flock  of 
birds  could  be  distinctly  traced. 

"Why  they  rested  for  a  moment,  in  nearly  every  clump 
of  bushes  in  their  path,  remains  a  mystery.  They  cer- 
tainly were  not  in  search  of  food,  nor  did  they  tarry 
long  enough  to  rest  themselves.  They  stopped,  and  then 
hurried  on,  as  though  led  by  the  whim  of  a  witless 
leader. 

I  clip  the  following  from  a  paper,  as  it  refers  to  these 
Crosswicks  meadows  and  the  nearest  village :  "  For  up- 
wards of  an  hour  yesterday  morning  (November  5)  a 
continuous  flock  of  cow-blackbirds  flew  over  this  town. 
They  came  from  a  northerly  direction,  and  were  moving 
southward.  An  old  gunner  says  that  cow  -  blackbirds 
have  not  been  very  numerous  hereabouts  of  late  years." 

The  day  referred  to  was  clear  and  warm,  and  I  was 
within  a  mile  or  two  of  this  wonderful  flock  of  birds, 


THE  LANDING.  233 

and  yet  saw  nothing  of  tliem.  It  is  additional  and  un- 
needed  evidence  that  the  horizon  of  one  individual's  ob- 
servation is  very  limited.  On  the  other  hand,  the  report 
of  the  fcunner  that  the  cow-bhickbirJs  have  been  scarce 
of  late  is  quite  an  error.  I  can  speak  with  confidence 
concerning  the  past  twenty  years,  and  in  no  one  of  these 
have  I  failed  to  find  them  in  abundance  ;  but,  unlike  him, 
I  never  saw  such  a  flock  as  he  reported. 

The  redwings,  too,  are  flocking  now.  Their  cheerful 
chatter  is  heard  everywhere  over  the  meadows,  and  at 
intervals  great  flocks  pass  swiftly  by.  Xor  have  they 
yet  forgotten  their  spring-tide  songs.  Above  the  roar 
of  beating  wings  and  the  shrill  chirping  of  their  com- 
panions can  be  heard  the  sweet  singing  of  many  that  no 
thought  of  frosty  autumn  seems  to  sadden. 

As  early  as  the  middle  of  July  the  redwings  begin 
to  congregate  on  the  willow  hedges,  and  a  dozen  or  more 
birds  flying  together,  their  wings  keeping 

"  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Ruuic  rhyme," 

give  us  the  earliest  intimation  of  the  approach  of  au- 
tumn. It  is  six  weeks  off,  to  be  sure,  even  according  to 
the  almanac,  and  nine  weeks  really  ;  but  when  the  wavy, 
concerted  flight  of  a  few  blackbirds  fans  the  outlying 
leaves  of  the  tree-tops,  know  then  that  the  active  days 
of  summer — days  of  nesting  and  bird-youth — are  over, 
and  with  the  o-atherino;  of  the  clans  a  new  era  is  ushered 
in ;  and  these  wide  meadows,  rich  in  tangled  weeds,  and 
all  spotted  and  scarred  with  thicket,  hedge,  and  pool,  are 
their  gathering  grounds. 


224  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

A  word  as  to  tlieir  numbers ;  we  liave  all  heard  of 
those  wonderful  flights  of  passenger  pigeons,  that,  like 
the  clouds  of  a  summer  shower,  obscure  the  sun  for 
hours,  J^othing  like  them  is  now  to  be  seen  in  this 
valley;  but  a  year  ago,  while  near  the  starting-point 
of  this  day's  journey,  I  witnessed  the  passage  of  a  vast 
throng  of  redwings,  which,  if  it  did  not  wholly  shut  out 
the  sun,  at  least  cast  an  enormous  and  well-defined 
shadow. 

Their  numbers  can  only  be  estimated;  but  allowing 
one  bird  to  every  square  foot  of  surface  as  they  flew, 
there  was  certainly  an  acre  of  them.  I  tliink  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  there  were  fifty  thousand  birds  in  the  flock. 

Before  I  had  passed  a  hundred  yards  down  stream  I 
rounded  an  abrupt  bend  in  the  creek,  and  all  that  re- 
mains of  a  once  busy  spot  came  into  view. 

The  unceasing  tides  for  more  tlian  two  centuries  have 
ebbed  and  flowed  since  a  thrifty  young  Englishman 
traced  the  half-hidden  Indian  path  that  led  to  the  up- 
lands, then  a  gloomy  forest,  and  discovered  amid  a  wil- 
derness of  undergrowth  a  noble  spring  issuing  from  the 
low  bluff  a  few  rods  distant. 

Here,  he  thought,  of  all  points  between  the  river  and 
the  back  country  is  the  one  whereat  to  build  a  wharf ; 
and  before  half  a  decade  it  was  ready  to  receive  the 
passing  shallops,  and  his  own  were  being  builded. 

At  low  tide  to-day  I  saw  several  of  the  old  wharf 
logs  still  in  place.  But  could  this  pioneer  merchant  of 
the  Crosswicks  valley  return,  he  would  scarcely  recog- 
nize the  site  of  the  "landing,"  as  it  was  then  called. 


THE  LANDING.  225 

ISTot  one  of  several  landmarks,  of  which  tradition  makes 
mention,  now  remains. 

I  drew  my  boat  ashore  npon  the  clean  sand  bronght 
from  subterranean  recesses  by  the  spring,  and  iirst 
paused  at  a  slight  depression  on  a  grassy  knoll,  which  is 
the  site  of  the  old  warehouse.  Wild  roses  cover  the 
spot  now. 

Before  following  up  the  spring  brook  to  its  source,  let 
me  recall  one  bit  of  early  colonial  history  connected 
with  the  wharf  and  its  belongings.  It  was  during  the 
winter  of  lT-il-42  that  the  shallop  AiDie  lay  at  the 
wharf,  not  temporarily  storm  -  stayed,  but  ice-bound. 
The  winter  had  "  set  in  "  before  she  could  sail  for  Phila- 
delphia, and,  as  it  proved,  not  a  rod  of  open  water  was 
visible  until  the  middle  of  the  ensuing  March.  So  she 
was  made  fast  and  guarded  from  the  ice,  should  there 
come  a  sudden  break-up. 

It  was  the  business  of  one  Jemmy  Cumberford  to  look 
after  the  boat,  and  this  he  did  faithfully  and  well,  ex- 
cept upon  such  occasions  as  rendered  him  unable  to  look 
after  himself.  One  such  was  late  in  January  of  that  nota- 
bly severe  winter,  when  about  midnight  he  roused  the 
merchant's  family  by  his  shrill  cries  for  help.  It  hap- 
pened thus :  all  through  the  night  before  and  all  that 
day  it  had  been  snowing.  K'ot  drifting  snow-flakes 
scattering  through  the  air,  but  steadily  descending  from 
a  leaden  sky  hidden  behind  the  feathery  rain.  IS'ot  a 
vestige  of  any  familiar  object  was  to  be  seen  that  did 
not  bear  its  load  of  snow.  Jemmy  Cumberford  that  af- 
ternoon, wandered  to  the  boat  instead  of  going  home, 
and  when  he  closed  the  door  of  the  little  cabin  behind 
10^^ 


226  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS, 

him  the  snow  was  still  falling.  But  the  storm  was  at 
an  end,  and  soon  the  moon  was  struggling  through  the 
broken  clouds,  and  shone  out  in  all  its  splendor.  All 
nature  was  profoundly  quiet,  and  Jemmy  asleep. 

ISTow  it  so  haj)pened  that  a  troop  of  a  dozen  snowy 
owls  had  been  journeying  for  days,  winging  their  way 
southward  above  the  storm,  and  ready  to  rest,  wlien  the 
breaking  clouds  gave  them  sight  of  mother  earth  again. 
They  reached  the  Crosswicks  valley  when  the  storm 
ceased ;  and  mistaking  the  ice-bound,  snow-clad  shalloj) 
for  some  great  tree  set  adrift  by  the  tempest,  they  chuc- 
kled to  themselves  that  it  offered  so  good  a  resting-place, 
and  in  the  rigging,  upon  the  deck,  and  directly  by  the 
cabin-door,  these  grave-visaged  owls  sat,  peacefully  scan- 
ning the  congenial  surroundings,  as  arctic  then  as  ever 
they  found  their  native  haunts  within  the  polar  circle. 

Being  silent  birds,  their  scarcely  audible  chuckling 
could  not  have  aroused  Jemmy  from  his  slumbers,  and 
their  promenading  about  the  snow-covered  deck  could 
not  have  reached  his  muffled  ears ;  but  quite  certain  it 
is  that  he  was  suddenly  roused,  and,  half-awake,  slowly 
emerged  from  the  cabin.  The  opening  door  pushed  aside 
one  of  the  owls  ;  but  no  ovvd  was  it  to  Jemmy.  He  saw 
two  fiery  eyes  and  a  mass  of  snow  rise  up  and  settle  in 
the  rigging  overhead.  Completely  dazed.  Jemmy  dared 
not  retreat  or  advance,  until  his  presence  excited  the 
suspicion  of  the  others,  and  everywhere,  as  he  thought, 
the  snow  with  fiery  eyes  was  conspiring  to  crush  him. 
With  one  mighty  leap  he  reached  the  wharf  and  floun- 
dered, with  all  the  energy  of  desj)air,  to  the  house,  a 
hundred  rods  distant,  and  uphill  at  that.     With  what 


THE  LANDING.  227 

strength  remained  lie  pounded  the  door  and  called,  in 
liusky  tones,  for  help. 

In  a  moment  the  family  were  aroused,  and  as  excited 
as  he,  and  it  was  long  before  they  could  get  a  word  in 
reply  to  their  many  cpiestions.  Ilegaining  a  little  of  his 
usual  composure,  he  whispered,  "The  snow's  alive,  and 
chased  me  off  the  boat." 

The  record  of  this  occurrence,  a  mere  fragment  now, 
concludes  thus :  "  Father  found  that  James  had  Ijeen 
scared  by  a  number  of  great  white  owls,  not  quite  of  the 
bigness  of  turkey-cocks.  Father  saw  them  the  day  fol- 
lowing in  the  woods  near  by,  and  they  were  very  tame. 
No  one  of  us  had  seen  birds  like  to  them,  but  an  Indian 
told  us  their  name  in  his  own  tongue." 

My  impression,  twenty  years  ago,  was  that  these 
snowy  owls  came  into  New  Jersey  every  winter,  but  I 
now  am  equally  confident  that  such  is  not  the  case. 
That,  being  arctic  birds,  they  should  remain  until  sum- 
mer, is  remarkable,  yet  several  such  cases  have  come  to 
my  knowledge.  My  first  meeting  with  these  owls  was 
in  December,  1857.  It  was  a  perfect  winter  day,  with 
a  steel-blue  sky,  and  every  object  covered  with  snow. 
Even  in  the  sun  not  a  flake  melted;  yet  the  perfectly 
still  air  did  not  feel  cold.  The  chinkapin  swamp,  with 
its  bush-like  growths,  was  full  of  sparrows,  and  to  hear 
them  sins:  I  wandered  thither.  Tlie  snow-birds  twit- 
tered  merrily;  the  white-throats  whistled,  and  the  dear 
old  foxy  finches  warbled  now  and  then.  I  was  repaid 
for  my  tramp,  but  in  time  longed  for  novelty.  "  Is  there 
nothing  else?"  I  asked  myself,  and,  boy-like,  began  to 
grow   impatient.      At   last,  plunging  into  the   denser 


228  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

growth  of  another  swamp  near  by,  I  was  brought  face 
to  face  with  a  noveUy,  and  very  abrnptly  too.  In  a 
small  cedar-tree  sat  a  magnificent  snowy  owl. 

In  witless,  blank  astonishment  I  stared  at  the  owl,  and 
it,  without  winking,  stared  at  me. 

An  owl's  solemn  visage  is  meant  for  the  world  ;  what 
is  behind  it  is  meant  for  itself,  and  this  great  snow- 
wliite  bird  was  thinking  quite  as  rapidly  and  far  more 
rationally  than  I  was.  It  was  not  at  all  alarmed.  I 
was ;  for  the  appearance  of  the  bird  was  suggestive  of 
direful  results  should  it  assume  the  offensive.  But  my 
courage  gradually  returned,  and  I  very  cautiously  ap- 
proached a  little  nearer.  IIow  the  owl  watched  my 
every  step !  A  few  yards  nearer,  and  I  was  so  close 
that  the  feathers  of  the  bird  were  distinguishable,  and  I 
began  to  examine  more  critically  every  feature,  when  it 
stepped  backward,  and  brought  the  trunk  of  the  tree, 
close  to  which  it  had  been  sitting,  between  me  and  itself, 
and  then  took  flight,  going  still  deeper  into  the  dismal 
swamp. 

I  had  no  little  difficulty  in  following ;  for  the  under- 
growtlis  were  thickly  matted,  and  afforded  no  footing 
for  mammals  larger  than  mice,  but  in  time  reached 
quite  to  the  tree  where  the  owl  had  alighted.  It  was  a 
dense  cedar,  heavily  weighted  with  snow,  and  showing 
but  little  of  its  green  foliage  ;  and  yet,  with  so  gentle  a 
motion  had  the  owl  sought  its  perch,  that  not  a  flake 
seemed  to  have  been  disturbed,  and  by  mere  chance 
was  I  able  to  learn  the  bird's  precise  whereabouts. 

Being  now  much  nearer  the  owl  than  before,  it  pur- 
sued quite  different  tactics ;  and  instead  of  flying,  al- 


THE  LANDING.  229 


tliongli  I  was  so  near,  it  first  pressed  all  its  feathers 
closely  to  its  body  and  reached  out  its  head,  so  that  it 
became  long  and  slender,  and  the  few  dark  spots  of  its 
plumage  aided  in  making  it  represent  a  portion  of  the 
snow-covered  tree.  It  was  done  so  quickly  that  I  was 
fortunate  in  being  able  to  watch  the  process.  Had  my 
attention  been  diverted  for  a  second,  the  owl  would  sim- 
ply have  disappeared. 

After  waiting  for  perhaps  a  minute,  I  took  hold  of 
the  outer  ends  of  the  nearest  bushes  and  shook  them 
vigorously.  At  once  the  owl  spread  his  wings  and  dis- 
appeared in  a  growth  of  blueberry  -  bushes,  too  dense, 
indeed,  for  me  to  follow. 

I  was  struck,  as  I  watched  the  bird's  retreating  form, 
with  a  marvellous  feature  of  its  flight.  Howsoever  d  ense 
the  growth,  the  bird  penetrated  it  without  touching  a 
twig,  or  brushing  a  flake  of  snow  from  any  bough.  The 
impression  I  then  received — now  nearly  thirty  years  ago 
— was  that  the  flight  through  a  forest  of  the  snowy  owl 
was  one  of  the  most  striking  exhibitions  of  wing  power 
to  be  witnessed,  and  this  impression  remains. 

It  is  unquestionable  that  a  small  proportion  of  these 
owls  do  not  return  north,  when  in  March  or  April  there 
is  a  decided  change  in  the  temperature,  such  as  affects 
the  movements  of  winter  migrants  generally.  There  is 
no  reason  to  believe,  however,  that  such  birds  ever  breed 
here,  although  they  have  been  taken  in  the  cedar  swamps 
of  southern  New  Jersey  as  late  as  the  middle  of  June. 

When  kept  in  confinement  they  become  quite  gentle, 
except  towards  strangers,  and  give  much  evidence  of 
being  more  intelligent  than  our  smaller  native  owls. 


230  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

So  far  as  my  own  observation  extends,  tliej  do  not 
apj)ear  to  suffer,  even  during  the  extreme  lieat  of  our 
midsummer.  The  late  Dr.  Richard  Harlan,  of  Philadel- 
phia, a  noted  naturalist  of  liis  day  and  generation,  kej)t 
one  in  his  cellar  for  seven  years.  It  became  quite  tame, 
but  was  averse  to  being  approached  by  strangers.  The 
doctor  might  have  kept  it  even  longer,  had  he  not  so 
frequently  made  use  of  it  to  frighten  the  children  in 
the  neighborhood.  This  iinally  caused  it  to  suddenly 
disappear,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  young  people 
and  chagrin  of  the  surly,  grim-visaged  doctor.  I  have 
this  from  my  mother,  who  was  once  badly  frightened  by 
the  owl,  and  who,  shortly  afterwards,  headed  the  con- 
spiracy that  succeeded  in  making  way  with  the  bird. 

The  last  considerable  flight  of  snowy  owls  into  JSTew 
Jersey  was  in  the  winter  of  1876-77.  E^otices  of  sj)eci- 
mens  shot  were  frequent  in  the  local  papers,  and  quite 
a  number  were  offered  for  sale  in  the  markets. 

It  has  been  frequently  stated  that  the  flesh  of  these 
owls  is  fine  and  delicate ;  but  such  has  not  proved  true 
of  specimens  killed  in  this  neighborhood.  All  were  very 
tough,  and  of  a  disagreeable  musky  flavor. 

The  one  prominent  feature  of  the  landing  is  the 
spring.  From  a  little  ravine  that  extends  back  into  the 
bluff  there  issues  a  considerable  stream  of  purest  water, 
cold,  colorless,  and  sparkling.  Towards  the  creek  it  hur- 
ries rippling  over  snow-white  pebbles,  tarrying  a  second 
by  some  projecting  root,  and  then  with  greater  speed 
passes  it  by,  "  to  join  the  brimming  river." 

One  naturally  pauses  at  a  bubbling  spring,  even  if  not 


TUE  LANDING.  231 

thirsty.  'No  one  is  so  insensible  to  nature's  beauties  as 
to  find  nothing  attractive  in  it.  It  is  a  point  where  life 
gathers  in  greatest  profusion,  and  so  the  naturalist,  be 
his  specialty  what  it  may,  is  sure  to  find  something  to 
bid  him  pause. 

In  the  little  basin  where  the  eager  waters  rush  upward 
to  the  light,  and  in  the  little  brook  beyond,  not  twenty 
rods  in  length,  I  have  gathered  many  plants,  beautiful 
shells,  silvery  fish,  swift  salamanders,  and  once  chased  a 
cunnino^  shrew  that  at  last  out-witted  me. 

One  feature  of  this  spring,  unlikely  to  escape  the  no- 
tice of  a  naturalist,  is  the  quantity  of  pure  white  sand 
that  is  carried  to  the  creek  by  the  water.  Dip  but  a 
tumblerful  of  the  water,  and  in  a  moment  many  fine 
grains  will  settle  in  the  bottom  of  the  glass.  That  this, 
in  the  course  of  a  day,-  is  a  considerable  amount,  is  most 
readily  shown  by  examining  the  sand-bar  in  the  creek. 
Were  it  not  that  every  tide  bears  quantities  of  this  sand, 
so  fine  is  it,  both  up  and  down  the  stream,  tlie  ever-grow- 
inof  bar  would  choke  the  channel  of  the  creeiv  and  dam 
up  the  very  waters  that  have  carried  it  from  unknown 
subterranean  depths.  As  it  is,  the  ever-present  bar  is 
constantly  built  up  and  unbuilded,  as  the  tides  roll  by. 

Think,  for  one  moment,  of  the  age  of  this  spring.  Its 
crystal  waters  have  been  flowing  without  a  check  since 
the  close  of  the  glacial  epoch,  which  some  too  enthusias- 
tic modernists  date  back  but  ten  thousand  years.  Think 
then  of  the  enormous  bulk  of  sand  which  has  been  washed 
from  beneath  our  upland  fields  and  cari'ied  meadow- 
w\ard.  AYliat  a  cavern  is  beneath  our  feet  if  this  sand 
once  occupied  space  by  itself;  v/hat  a  certain  lowering 


232  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

of  11  inland  levels  if  it  is  washed  from  extensive  areas! 
The  growth  and  disintegration  of  a  continent  is  epito- 
mized in  the  work  unceasingly  performed  by  this  bub- 
bling spring. 

In  the  immediate  vicinity  and  even  along  the  little 
brook,  where  there  is  more  of  sunshine,  is  little  if  any 
August  bloom.  The  plants  are  green,  luxuriant,  and  of 
many  kinds,  but  all  flower  at  the  commencement  of  the 
season  instead  of  at  its  close.  It  is  in  Ma}^,  when  the 
spring  is  hedged  in  w^ith  bloom — dog-wood,  azalea,  and 
other  shrubs.  Each  succeeding  month  the  brilliancy  of 
bloom  is  more  and  more  replaced  by  a  wilderness  of 
leaves  only.  Here  is  one  of  tlie  few  spots  where  lamb- 
lettuce,  w^ith  deep  blue  flowers,  suggesting  the  forget- 
me-not,  grows  in  great  profusion,  and  nearer  the  creek 
there  is,  each  returning  spring,  a  never-to-be-forgotten 
display  of  blooming  golden -club.  This  is,  except  the 
yellow  lotus,  our  least  abundant  w\ater  -  plant,  and  so 
never  fails  to  attract  attention  when  in  bloom.  The 
plant  itself,  later  in  the  summer,  is  pretty,  but  liable  to 
be  overlooked  amid  the  wealth  of  growths  that  crowd 
the  valley.  ^N'ot  so  in  May,  when  the  plant  is  in  bloom. 
The  long,  tapering  spathes,  densely  covered  with  minute 
blossoms  of  the  richest  yellow,  are  the  most  cons^Dicuous 
objects  on  the  water's  edge. 

I  examined  many  clusters  of  this  plant  w^hen  in  bloom, 
during  the  past  spring,  and  failed  to  find  any  evidence 
that  insects  habitually  visited  it.  This  surjDrised  me  the 
more,  because  I  found  the  plant  generally  tenanted  by  a 
small  black  spider,  which  placed  its  web  at  the  base  of 
the  finger-like  stalks  of  bloom. 


THE  LANDING.  233 

Kalm  makes  interesting  reference  to  tliis  plant.  He 
writes:  "Taw-Kee  is  another  plant,  so  called  by  the 
Indians,  who  eat  it.  .  .  .  The  plant  grows  in  marshes, 
near  moist  and  low  grounds,  and  is  very  plentiful  in 
North  America.  The  cattle,  hogs,  and  stags  are  very 
fond  of  the  leaves  in  spring,  for  they  are  some  of  the 
earliest.  The  leaves  are  broad,  like  those  of  the  Conva- 
leria^  or  Lily  of  the  Valley,  green  on  the  upper  side,  and 
covered  w^ith  very  minnte  hair,  so  that  they  looked  like 
a  fine  velvet.  The  Indians  pluck  the  seeds,  and  keep 
them  for  eating.  They  cannot  be  eaten  fresh  or  raw, 
but  must  be  dried.  The  Indians  were  forced  to  boil 
them  repeatedly  in  water  before  they  were  fit  for  use, 
and  then  they  ate  them  like  pease.  When  the  Swedes 
gave  them  butter  or  milk,  they  boiled  .  .  .  the  seeds  in 
it.  Sometimes  they  employ  these  seeds  instead  of  bread, 
and  they  taste  like  pease.  Some  of  the  Swedes  likewise 
ate  them ;  and  the  old  men  among  them  told  me  they 
liked  this  food  better  than  any  of  the  other  plants  which 
the  Indians  formerly  made  use  of.  This  Taw-Kee  was 
the  Oroiitiitm  aqiiaticumP 

Just  as  two  centuries  ago  this  splendid  spring  was 
looked  upon  by  my  paternal  ancestor  as  a  spot  very  de- 
sirable to  possess,  so  the  Indians,  in  earlier  days,  were 
attracted  to  it,  and  lived,  no  one  can  say  for  how  long, 
within  hearing  of  its  rippling  waters.  The  ashes  of  their 
fires  are  mingled  with  every  clod  that  is  now  upturned 
by  the  spade.  I  lately  gathered  from  among  the  peb- 
bles in  the  brook  a  tiny  arrow-point,  and  tracing  the 
probable  course  of  the  little  weapon,  which  must  neccs- 


234  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

sarily  have  been  washed  from  the  hill-side,  I  found  that 
the  crumbling  bluff  had,  by  the  recent  uprooting  of  a 
tree  directly  above  the  spring,  exposed  the  site  of  an 
arrow-maker's  workshop. 

Such  evidences  of  the  aborigines  are  not  novelties  in 
this  vicinity.  I  have  found  dozens  such,  and  thousands 
of  beautiful  arrow-points,  spears,  scrapers,  and  all  the  va- 
riety of  chipped  flints,  now  rest  in  museum  cases,  gath- 
ered from  these  places  and  the  intervening  fields. 

Tlie  one  I  found  so  recently  told  the  same  story  as 
have  the  others.  Here  were  bowlders  of  jasper  and 
flinty  rocks,  such  as  are  common  to  the  gravel-beds  that 
form  the  eastern  bank  of  the  river,  five  miles  away  as 
the  crow  files;  also  cores  or  remnants  of  the  selected 
pebbles  and  bowlders,  which  vv'ere  too  small  or  too  irreg- 
ular in  shape  to  be  further  available.  With  these  were 
large  flakes,  some  of  which  may  have  been  used  as  knives, 
or  intended  for  such  use ;  for  just  such  specimens  are 
frequently  found,  with  undoubtedly  finished  tools,  on 
wigwam  sites.  I  found  too,  as  is  always  the  case,  blocked 
out  and  subsequently  discarded  specimens,  and  others 
that  had  been  nearly  or  quite  finished  and  then  irrepa- 
rably injured  by  some  unlucky  finishing  touch.  Of  course, 
fine  chips  and  splinters  were  abundant ;  but  I  failed  to 
find  any  hammer- stones  or  other  fiint- clipping  tools. 
Had  the  arrow-maker,  when  he  left,  carried  these  away 
with  him?  It  is  certainly  a  plausible  explanation  of 
their  absence. 

What  I  have  mentioned  of  another  and  much  larger 
workshop-site  I  can  repeat  of  this  :  here,  shaded  by  dense 
woods,  on  a  slightly  elevated  knoll,  in  the  midst  of  a 


THE  LANDING.  235 

meadow-like  expanse  of  low-lying  ground,  tlirougli  wliicli 
trickled  a  sparkling  spring  brook,  had  tarried,  for  years, 
an  arrow-maker,  shaping  with  marvellous  skill  those  va- 
ried patterns  of  spear-points  and  delicate  tools  which  are 
still  gathered  from  the  adjoining  fields.  Unlike  locali- 
ties of  many  acres  in  extent,  where  the  traces  of  former 
occupation  are  scattered  throughout  the  whole  area,  and 
indicate  that  manufacturing  had  once  been  in  progress 
simply  by  the  abundance  of  chips,  we  liave  in  this  work- 
shop-site the  evidences  of  the  toil  of  a  single  skilled 
workman,  who,  in  the  quiet  of  his  forest  retreat,  spent 
the  greater  portion  of  a  long  and  useful  life. 

What  gave  zest  to  a  pleasant  hour  spent  here,  a  year 
ago,  in  archaeological  research  was  the  finding  of  a  small 
smooth  horn-stone  pebble,  upon  one  side  of  which  was  a 
rude  but  unmistakable  carving  of  a  human  face.  What 
may  we  call  such  objects?  If  worn  upon  the  person, 
and  treasured  beyond  all  other  possessions,  it  became  in 
fact  an  idol,  and  so  perhaps  we  are  warranted  in  consid- 
ering it.  Larger  and  more  pretentious  carvings  have 
been  found  not  far  away,  and  these  are  held  to  be  such 
if  the  smaller  but  otherwise  similar  ones  are  not.  John 
Brainerd,  while  a  missionary  among  the  Indians  of  New 
Jersey,  recorded  of  one  of  these  people  that  "she  liad 
an  aunt  .  .  .  who  kept  an  idol  image,  which  indeed  part- 
ly belonged  to  her,  and  that  she  had  a  mind  to  go  and 
fetch  her  aunt  and  the  image,  that  it  might  be  burnt ;  but 
when  she  went  to  the  place  she  found  nobody  at  home, 
and  the  image  also  was  taken  away."  While  this,  in- 
deed, is  slender  evidence  of  the  occurrence  of  idol  wor- 
ship among  the  Delaware  Indians,  it  is  of  interest  in 


236  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

showing  that  images  were  not  unknown,  and  that  they 
possessed  other  significance  and  value  than  as  mere  or- 
naments. Any  carving  in  wood  or  stone,  merely  used 
for  personal  decoration,  as  the  one  I  found  in  the  work- 
shop-site may  have  been,  would  not  have  become  sinful 
in  the  mind  of  an  Indian  woman  through  the  preaching 
of  the  missionary;  and  a  desire  to  destroy  tlie  object 
she  reported  as  in  lier  possession  must  necessarily  have 
arisen  from  the  fact  that  it  was  regarded  with  supersti- 
tious reverence,  and  invested  with  supernatural  powers 
in  their  belief. 

A  word  more  concerning  Indian  idols,  and  I  have 
done.  Dr.  Brinton  remarks:  "They — the  Lenape  or 
Delaware  Indians  —  rarely  attempted  to  set  forth  the 
divinity  in  image.  The  rude  representation  of  a  human 
head,  cut  in  wood,  small  enough  to  be  carried  on  their 
person,  or  life  size  on  a  post,  was  their  only  idol.  This 
was  called  wsinkhoalican.  They  also  drew  and  perhaps 
carved  emblems  of  their  totemic  guardian.  Mr.  Beatty 
describes  the  head  chiefs  home  as  a  long  building  of 
wood.  ^Over  the  door  a  turtle  is  drawn,  which  is  the 
ensign  of  this  particular  tribe.  On  each  door-post  was 
cut  the  face  of  a  grave  old  man.' 

"Occasionally,  rude  representations  of  the  human 
liead,  chipped  out  of  stone,  are  exhumed  in  those  parts 
of  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jersey  once  inhabited  by  tlie 
Lenape.  These  are  doubtless  the  losiiikJioalican  above 
mentioned."  So  much  for  the  Indians  of  the  Cross- 
wicks  valley. 

It  is  easier  to  keep  out  of  trouble  than  to  get  out  of 


THE  LANDING.  237 

it.  The  truth  of  this,  as  regards  both  birds  and  men, 
was  ilUistrated  bj  a  recent  adventure  near  the  spring, 
whicli  had  its  comical  as  well  as  serious  features.  I  saw 
a  purple  grakle's  nest  that  had  every  appearance  of  be- 
ing suspended  in  the  tree-top  like  an  oriole's — a  position 
wholly  out  of  the  rule.  It  was  too  high  up  to  let  me 
solve  the  mystery  by  viewing  it  from  below,  and  to  sat- 
isfy a  laudable  curiosity  I  resolved  to  climb  the  tree. 

Having  done  so,  I  was  well  repaid  for  the  labor.  The 
nest  had  been  displaced  by  the  wind,  but  had  strangely 
lodged  between  two  nearly  parallel  branches,  which,  how- 
ever, held  it  only  by  its  rim  and  threatened  to  let  it  fall 
at  any  moment.  The  poor  birds,  which  were  plainly  in 
great  distress,  had  vainly  tried  to  secure  it  anew,  and 
had  built  up  its  edges  until  they  overlapped  the  sup- 
porting limbs,  but  had  not  the  skill  to  interweave  the 
new  stuff  with  the  old,  and  thus  make  one  structure  of  it 
all.  Their  intentions  were  good  ;  the  means  adopted  to 
secure  the  desired  result  deplorably  bad.  They  were 
merely  adding  weight  above,  when  they  required  sup- 
port below.  Many  of  our  birds  would  have  been  en- 
gineers equal  to  the  emergency ;  but  the  grakles  were 
not.  I  made  the  nest  as  secure  as  I  could  by  drawing 
it  to  where  the  space  between  the  branches  was  narrow- 
er, and  so  gave  it  sufficient  support.  Tlie  birds  looked 
on  approvingly,  and  I  was  well  repaid  by  what  I  imag- 
ined to  be  their  grateful  thanks. 

It  now  remained  for  me  to  descend  and  leave  the 
birds  in  peace.  I  started  to  do  so,  when  tlirough  some 
strange  miscalculation  I  failed  to  secure  a  footing,  and 
fell.     I  have  heard  it  remarked  that  there  is  an  art  in 


238  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

falling.  What  one  does  when  spinning  through  the  air 
for  a  second  or  less  is  not  easily  recalled ;  but  the  de- 
scent seemed  a  great  deal  longer  than  a  minute.  1  can 
only  be  sure  that  I  started  face  downward,  and  came  to 
a  short  stop,  with  the  sun  shining  in  my  face.  I  was 
still  six  feet  from  the  ground,  lying  at  full  length  across 
the  densest  growth  of  smilax  on  the  farm.  Now  smi- 
lax  has  thorns — a  fact  that  had  never  troubled  me  be- 
fore; and  these  resented  my  abrupt  intrusion  by  pene- 
trating into  and  through  my  clothes,  and  beyond.  This 
may  seem  trivial  as  you  read  it,  but  do  not  test  the  mat- 
ter. Accept  my  assurances  that  a  thorn  to  every  square 
inch  of  one's  back  and  limbs  is  not  trivial;  and  when 
smilax  confronts  you,  go  round,  and  not  through  it. 

Perhaps  those  who  have  so  much  to  say  about  reclin- 
ing on  beds  of  roses,  have  never  realized  the  accomjoani- 
ment  of  thorns.  Here  was  I  upon  a  bed  of  thorns,  with 
no  very  rosy  prospect  of  getting  from  it.  There  was 
a  cat -bird  hard  by  who  looked  at  me  for  a  moment, 
laughed,  flirted  his  contemp>tuous  tail,  and  dej)arted. 
The  gesture  was  irritating.  Man  vaunts  himself  the 
climax  of  animal  creation  ;  yet  this  saucy  cat-bird  could, 
without  an  effort,  skijD  over  the  smilax,  where  I  was 
helpless. 

A  happy  thought  struck  me.  I  would  crawl  out  of 
my  clothes !  Alas,  that  seemed  only  the  beginning  of 
a  reduction  which  would  have  no  end  before  I  had  es- 
caped from  that  piercing  and  clinging  smilax,  short  of 
having  reduced  myself  to  a  bare,  hard  skeleton,  and  I 
feared  I  never  could  put  myself  together  again.  "What 
was  I  to  do  ?    Planning  on  a  bed  of  thorns,  even  if  they 


THE  LANDING.  239 

do  not  prick  ns,  is  not  an  cxliilaniting  pastime.  Tlic  siir- 
roimdin<rs  are  not  conducive  to  nuick-wittedncss,  and 
the  sunshine  from  above  and  mosquitoes  from  every- 
where distract  attention.  The  most  feasible  and  natu- 
ral thing  of  all  occurred  to  me  at  the  last  of  a  long  se- 
ries— to  call  for  help. 

I  combined  the  penetrative  elements  of  shriek,  yell, 
howl,  and  squeal,  hoping  some  receptive  ear  might  rec- 
Oirnize  the  meanintr.  It  startled  the  birds,  and  they 
quickly  came  to  see  what  manner  of  creature  had  hap- 
pened into  their  midst.  First,  of  course,  came  the  tan- 
talizing cat-bird.  He  investigated  closely — too  closely — 
and  then  contemplated  me,  perched  within  arm's-length 
of  my  list.  His  ultimate  conclusion  was  a  spiteful  la-a. 
Every  robin  and  thrush  of  the  whole  hill-side  came,  and 
the  volume  of  their  united  voices,  in  discussion,  brought 
the  jays  and  a  pair  of  crows. 

The  crows  were  more  clamorous  and  bolder  than  the 
smaller  birds ;  and  knowing  their  fancy  for  a  luncheon 
of  the  eyes  of  sick  sheep  and  helpless  lambs,  I  began  to 
have  some  fear  for  the  safety  of  mine.  I  called  again 
in  no  uncertain  tones.  It  had  the  initial  effect  of  driv- 
ing away  the  avian  congress,  and  then,  to  my  inexpressi- 
ble relief,  I  heard  a  voice  answering.  Again  I  shouted, 
and  a  quick  reply  assured  me  that  help  was  at  hand.  A 
moment  more,  and  my  rescuer  was  ready — but  his  in- 
genuity was  not  equal  to  his  desire  to  aid  me.  He  could 
no  more  get  into  the  smilax  than  I  could  get  out  of  it. 
Scratching  his  head,  he  remarked,  "  I  don  t  suppose  it 
will  do  to  burn  the  briers  and  let  you  drop  on  the  ashes, 
will  it  ?" 


240  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

I  gave  a  faint  groan  in  reply,  and  suggested  his  devis- 
ino^  some  other  means. 

"I  have  it!''  he  exclaimed,  and  turning  to  the  tree  I 
had  climbed,  he  drew  himself  to  the  lowest  of  the  long, 
out-stretching  branches,  and  bearing  it  down  within  my 
reach,  gave  me  a  chance  to  pull  myself  upward  from  the 
smilax ;  the  only  thing,  indeed,  that  I  Qould  do.  As  I 
secured  my  hold  he  withdrew,  and  I  finally,  by  the  re- 
sistance of  the  bended  limb,  was  free  of  the  briers,  and 
left  to  painfully  work  my  way  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree. 
This  took  all  my  strength,  and  I  needed  much  help  to 
enable  me  to  reach  home.  It  was  no  slight  mishap  I 
had  suffered,  and  the  scars  on  my  back  made  an  excel- 
lent map  of  the  Micronesian  archipelago. 

Prominent  in  the  modest  landscape,  as  we  view  the 
"  landing  "  from  the  boat,  is  a  shapely  beech,  that  mid- 
way between  the  spring  and  the  creek  overhangs  a 
sparkling  brook.  It  possesses  no  very  marked  features, 
and  certainly  is  not  so  large  as  one  might  think  a  tree 
two  hundred  years  old  should  be ;  but  it  is  a  tree  with 
a  history,  and  has  had  the  honor  of  sheltering  many  a 
naturalist,  and  bearing  upon  its  bark  their  names  or  ini- 
tials, cut  by  the  naturalists  themselves.  These  traces  of 
distinguished  visitors  have  all  disappeared  ;  but  the  tree 
is  still  singled  out  for  like  attentions  from  others,  for 
contemplative  ramblers  and  haj^py  lovers  have  carved 
either  their  names  or  initials  in  suggestive  proximity. 

While  endeavoring  to  decipher  some  of  the  older  of 
these  names,  cut  half  a  century  ago,  I  was  somewhat 
startled  by  a  great  roaring  overhead,  and  the  world  of 


THE  LANDING.  241 

to-day  was  promptly  recalled.  The  sound  proceeded 
from  a  swarm  of  bees  that  literally  rolled  over  the  tops 
of  the  trees.  It  crossed  the  creek,  and  sped  over  the 
meadow,  and  when  almost  beyond  sight  the  peculiar 
roar  could  be  distinctly  heard. 

This  incident  recalled  a  remarkable  flight  of  mosqui- 
toes which  I  once  witnessed  from  this  point.  It  occurred 
too  at  the  same  time  of  year.  Since  sunrise  there  had 
been  no  noticeable  peculiarity  of  the  weather;  the  tem- 
perature, perhaps,  being  a  little  below  the  average  of  a 
midsummer  day.  The  sky  was  clear,  and  while  I  was 
rowing  slowly  down  the  creek,  suddenly,  almost  between 
winks,  I  saw  a  long,  narrow  line  of  dark-gray  cloud  ris- 
ing rapidly  and  extending  over  half  the  western  horizon. 
In  a  few  moments  I  heard  a  faint  humming  sound, 
which  grew  louder  and  louder,  and  I  thought  of  a  tor- 
nado. I  was  too  frightened  to  plan  for  my  safety,  and 
indeed  there  was  no  time  in  which  to  act.  Heading  for 
the  shore,  I  reached  an  overhanging  elm,  and  clinging 
to  a  projecting  root,  1  awaited  the  oncoming  of  the  sup- 
posed tornado.  It  came,  but  not  as  wind.  The  tempest 
proved  a  cloud  of  mosquitoes.  It  rose  higher  and  high- 
er as  it  approached,  and  when  directly  overhead  quite 
cleared  the  tree-tops.  Nevertheless,  it  was  no  pleasant, 
although  novel,  experience  to  be  beneath  such  a  cloud. 

Had  a  sudden  chancre  in  the  wind  checked  their  course 
and  caused  them  to  settle,  I  do  not  suppose  I  could  have 
escaped  being  fatally  stung  by  them.  A  rough  esti- 
mate made  on  the  spot  led  to  the  conclusion  that  this 
cloud  of  mosquitoes  was  half  a  mile  wide,  and  one  hun- 
dred yards  from  front  to  rear.  The  depth  of  the  mass 
11 


242  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

I  could  not  ascertain,  but  it  effectually  excluded  tlie  sun- 
light. The  sound,  as  they  passed,  is  best  described  by 
likening  it  to  a  long  train  of  cars  passing  over  a  bridge. 

My  duties  as  a  naturalist  called  me  to  determine  if 
the  meadows  were  unusually  free  from  these  pests,  after 
the  exodus  of  so  many  millions,  but  1  could  not  see  that 
this  was  the  case.  By  careless  exposure  of  my  hands 
and  face  on  the  following  evening,  I  found  that  there 
were  enough  left  to  render  a  night  in  the  marsh  exceed- 
ingly painful,  if  not  absolutely  dangerous  through  their 
attacks.  I  had  also  the  task  before  me  of  determining 
the  fate  of  the  migrants,  but  this  was  never  accomplished. 
The  wind  apparently  carried  them  to  the  river  and  dis- 
persed them  over  the  flourishing  county  of  Bucks,  much 
to  the  annoyance  of  many  a  Pennsylvania  farmer. 

While  standing  by  the  beech-tree  to-day  I  killed  sev- 
eral "  striped  -  stockings,"  as  they  are  locally  called,  a 
species  of  Oiolex  that  out-buzz  and  out-sting  the  ordi- 
nary variety.  They  are  twice  as  large,  and  the  distinct 
black  and  white  markings  on  their  legs  serve  to  distin- 
guish the  species.  It  is  rarely  the  case  that  mosquitoes 
are  too  troublesome  to  enable  one  to  carry  out  any  plans, 
however  much  the  hands  and  face  are  exposed ;  but  oc- 
casionally, when  in  the  low  marshes  at  low  tide,  there 
will  be  a  dozen  or  twenty  "striped -stockings"  which 
will  make  a  simultaneous  attack,  and  then  prudence  sug- 
gests beating  an  immediate  retreat. 

It  has  lately  been  ascertained  that  mosquitoes  destroy 
young  trout :  "  When  the  latter  came  to  the  surface  of 
the  water,  so  that  the  tops  of  their  heads  were  level  with 
the  surface  of  the  water  ...  a  mosquito  would  alight 


THE  LANDING.  213 

and  immediately  transfix  the  trout  by  inserting  his  pro- 
boscis or  bill  into  the  brain  of  the  fish,  which  seemed  in- 
capable of  escaping.  The  mosquito  would  hold  his  vic- 
tim steady  until  he  had  extracted  all  tlic  life  juices,  and 
when  this  was  accomplished,  and  lie  flew  away,  the  dead 
trout  would  turn  over  on  his  back  and  float  down  the 
stream." 

It  was  early  in  September  when  I  read  the  above, 
and  I  straightway  took  my  stand  on  the  bank  of  Faxon's 
Brook,  then  teeming  with  young  cyprinoids,to  see  if  such 
attacks  were  made  upon  these  fish  by  our  mosquitoes. 
The  conditions  were  all  favorable,  but  not  a  minnow 
w^as  molested.  I  did  find,  however,  in  a  sink-hole  in  an 
upland  field,  that  these  "striped-stockings"  occasionally 
settled  upon  the  tadpoles  there,  and  puncturing  the  tail, 
caused  it  to  bleed  and  often  to  swell  and  become  con- 
gested. The  water  in  the  sink-hole  was  very  shallow, 
and  the  tadpoles — of  liana  clamitans,  probably — v:ere 
often  put  to  it  to  keep  wholly  submerged.  It  is  not  at 
all  improbable,  I  think,  that  under  certain  circumstances 
numbers  of  very  small  fish  are  destroyed  in  the  manner 
described ;  for  I  find  frequent  reference  in  my  note- 
books to  the  occurrence  of  quantities  of  dead  young 
fish,  the  cause  of  the  mortality  among  which  I  was  un- 
able to  ascertain.  Kow  it  is  no  uncommon  siojlit  to  sec 
the  surface  of  the  vrater  thickly  dotted  with  the  pro- 
jecting snouts  and  even  heads  of  small  fishes,  and  such 
an  occasion  would  afford  excellent  opportunity  for  the 
mosquitoes  to  attack  them. 

A  peculiarly  angry  buzzing  in  the  grass  near  by  soon 


244  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

called  mj  attention  from  winged  to  wingless  insects, 
and  I  saw,  moving  liurriedly  along,  that  beautiful  but 
dangerous  creature  popularly  known  as  the  velvet  ant. 
It  bad  better  be  called  a  sulpliur-breatliing  imp  of  sbeoL 
It  is  not  an  ant  really,  but  tlie  wingless  female  of  a 
Ilymenopter  allied  to  tliem  —  the  family  Mutillidoe — 
and  without  further  reference  to  her  position  in  the  text- 
books, it  may  be  added  that  she  is  the  incarnation  of 
ill-temj)er.  One  often  hears  the  phrase, ''  as  mad  as  a. 
hornet ;"  but  these  are  really  peaceful,  compared  to  the 
velvet  ant,  and  angry  only  on  occasion.  Hornets  can 
be  provoked  to  anger,  but  do  not  systematically  get  out 
of  bed,  day  in  and  week  out,  in  a  fit  of  fiery  passion. 
This  is  just  what  the  scarlet  velvet  ant  does.  If  astir 
before  the  sun  is  well  up,  they  are  angered  by  the  low 
temperature ;  at  hot,  high  noon  they  venture  abroad, 
berating  even  the  grass  blades,  and  killing  or  torturing 
with  their  j)oisoned  sting  every  creature  that  crosses 
their  path.  Brave,  indeed,  must  be  their  winged  mates, 
to  be  willing  to  approach,  and  ever  alert  to  take  flight 
the  instant  any  additional  frowns  darken  these  viragoes' 
foreheads.  If  it  is  true  that  anger  is  hot,  then  it  is 
strange  the  frost  can  ]3enetrate  to  their  winters  subter- 
ranean abode.  Packard  says  it  quickly  conceals  itself 
when  disturbed.  !N'ot  always.  I  liave  found  that  it  was 
by  no  means  cowardly,  even  when  pursued  by  man. 
On  the  contrary,  often  has  it  shown  itself  ready  to  fight, 
as  though  well  aware  that  it  possesses  a  terribly  effective 
weapon.  Whether  undisturbed  or  when  pursued,  it  at 
all  times  utters  a  loud  and  ireful  buzzing  that  strangely 
enough  has  been  recorded  as  a  "  faint  squeaking  sound." 


THE  LANDING.  2-15 

I  have  often  lieard  it  at  a  distance  of  twenty  feet,  above 
the  liiun  and  stir  of  myriads  of  other  insects.  It  is  a 
sound  much  like  tlie  z-ing  of  a  harvest-fly  (cicada),  but 
even  more  steady,  uniform,  and  unceasing.  Not  even 
is  the  creature  quiet  when  at  home.  Although  the  bur- 
row is  often  half  a  metre  in  depth,  still,  by  placing  the 
ear  to  the  entrance  of  the  retreat,  we  can  hear  the  omi- 
nous, angry  buzzing,  a  casting  of  curses  at  every  living 
creature  that  it  can  by  any  possibility  afflict.  Let  him 
who  would  witness  the  climax  of  ill-temper  watch  for 
a  while  a  velvet  stinging  ant,  the  formidable  scarlet 
Miitilla  occidentalis. 

Had  I  not  seen  the  Mutilla  enter  her  subterranean 
abode,  I  should  never  have  suspected  that  here,  in  the 
clean,  closely  shorn  sod  was  the  entrance  to  a  consider- 
able excavation.  Xot  a  trace  of  her  tunnellino:  was  now 
visible  except  the  clean  circular  opening  in  the  ground. 
Had  there  ever  been  ?  If  so,  what  had  become  of  the 
earth  removed  by  this  insect  ?  The  same  may  be  asked 
of  many  another  animal  earth  retreat. 

It  is  presumed  that  whenever  a  mannnal  burrows  into 
the  ground,  the  earth  removed  is  brought  to  the  surface 
and  scattered  about  the  entrance,  and  there  it  remains 
until  slowly  removed  by  the  rain,  or  blown  away  by 
some  high  wind,  or,  if  not  thus  scattered  abroad,  that 
the  grass  springs  up  through  it,  and  so  effectually  con- 
ceals all  trace  of  it.  Is  all  this  presumption  true  ?  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  does  every  burrowing  animal  bring  to 
the  surface  all  the  earth  it  displaces  in  making  its  bur- 
row? 

My  attention  having  been  called  to  this  subject  early 


24G  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

in  the  past  summer,  I  have  since  then  taken  every  pre- 
caution to  let  no  new  burrows  near  home  escape  detec- 
tion and  very  careful  examination ;  and  as  a  result,  I 
have  concluded  that  there  is  in  the  minds  of  most  peo- 
ple a  misconception  concerning  these  underground  re- 
treats, whether  made  by  mammals  or  insects. 

^7hen  a  burrowin^^  mammal  is  cut  oS  from  its  re- 
treat,  and  finding  escape  by  running  impracticable,  in- 
stead of  turning  about  and  facing  a  pursuing  foe,  it  will, 
as  a  desperate  resort,  start  to  burrowing.  In  the  case  of 
skunks,  chipmunks,  and  star-nosed  moles,  it  needs  but 
an  incredibly  short  time  for  the  animal  to  conceal  itself ; 
but  of  course,  in  all  such  cases,  the  displaced  earth  is 
thrown  upon  the  surface,  and  is  a  certain  indication  of 
the  creature's  whereabouts.  Nevertheless,  escape  by 
such  uncertain  means  is  often  effected,  in  consequence 
of  the  animal's  being  able  to  round  a  bowlder  or  large 
root,  and  so  place  it  between  the  pursuer  and  pursued. 
In  every  such  case  the  amount  of  dirt  displaced  is  not 
all  brous^ht  to  the  surface.  Does  the  animal  then  worm 
its  way  through  the  soil,  pressing  it  to  either  side  of  the 
tunnel  as  it  progresses?  There  is  certainly  much  evi- 
dence that  this  is  true ;  but,  of  course,  the  practicability 
of  such  tunnelling  by  pressure  depends  upon  the  char- 
acter of  the  earth  and  its  relative  density. 

This  has  been  pronounced  impossible ;  and  the  asser- 
tion made  that  earth  of  so  loose  a  texture  that  a  mam- 
mal could  worm  through  it,  as  loose  sand,  would  imme- 
diately cave  behind  the  animal  as  it  progressed. 

The  stri^^ed  ground-squirrel  or  chipmunk  affords,  in 
its  burrow,  a  good  opportunity  to  examine  into  this  mat- 


THE  LANDING.  247 

ter.     I  liavc  carefully  noted  tlic  conditions  of  thirteen 
such  burrows,  which  ranged  from  seven  to  thirty  feet  in 
length.     Every  one  was  tortuous  except  the  longest, 
whFch  can  better  be  described  as  wavy.     In  no  instance 
could  I  find  any  evidence  that  dirt  had  been  brought  to 
the  surface  more  than  sufficient  to  fill  about  one-twen- 
tieth to  one-fiftieth  of  the  area  of  the  tunnel,  and  prob- 
ably in  every  case  this  was  an  over-estimate.     Of  this 
series  of  thirteen  burrows  none  was  more  than  a  month 
old,  and  there  had  been  no  rains  in  that  time  sufficiently 
copious  to  have  washed  away  all  trace  of  newly  exposed 
dirt.     The  main  entrance  to  five  ^vas  a  perpendicular 
descent  varying  from  tw^o  to  five  feet  in  depth,  and  I 
claim  that  this  animal  has  no  power  to  bring  to  the  sur- 
face, when  forced  to  back  out  of  its  burrow,  any  signifi- 
cant quantity  of  loose  earth  ;  and  even  if  the  diameter 
of  the  burrow  was  sufficient  to  enable  it  to  turn  about, 
it  could  not  then  remove  any  important  amount  of  loose 
soil  except  it  spent  hours  at  the  w^ork ;   and  this  I  am 
positive  it  does  not  do.     The  excavation  of  a  tunnel  is 
not  the  labor  of  a  month,  and  so  long  a  time  would  be 
necessary  if  every  particle  of  detached  earth  was  brought 
to  the  entrance  of  the  burrow. 

Some  of  the  tunnels  examined  by  me  extended  in 
from  the  face  of  the  bluff  about  three  feet,  and  then 
turned  at  a  right  angle  and  ran  parallel  to  it  for  a  con- 
siderable distance.  Some  made  two  or  three  abrupt 
turns,  and  had  one  or  more  roomy  excavations  besides, 
wherein  food  is  stored.  Kow  if  the  displaced  earth 
was  removed  by  these  animals  in  small  quantities,  as  by 
filling  their  cheek  pouches  with  it— which  they  probably 


248  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

do  not  do — it  would  require  a  much  longer  time  to  com- 
plete a  burrow,  say  fifteen  feet  in  length  and  with  a 
magazine  for  winter  food  of  an  area  of  one  cubic  foot, 
than  is  really  consumed  in  the  construction  of  such  a 
subterranean  home. 

I  have  dispossessed  chipmunks  of  their  burrows  and 
found  that  they  made  for  themselves  others  in  the  course 
of  a  night — the  length  of  such  varying  with  the  charac- 
ter of  the  soil  in  wdiich  they  burrowed.  I  am  free  to 
admit  that  it  seems  quite  impossible  for  an  animal  to 
penetrate  the  earth  by  pressing  it  from  side  to  side  as  it 
progresses ;  and  yet  there  seems  to  be  no  other  method 
open  to  them  after  an  ingress  of  a  foot  or  more  has  been 
effected.  The  diameter  of  the  burrow  is  simply  suffi- 
cient for  the  animal  to  proceed  forward.  It  cannot  turn 
about  and  reach  the  entrance  face  forward.  In  burrow- 
ing, therefore,  the  earth  detached  by  the  fore -paws  is 
forced  under  the  belly,  and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  this 
loose  material  can  be  continually  collected  by  the  animal 
in  a  pellet  and  pushed  forward  towards  the  entrance  of 
the  tunnel  by  the  animal's  hind-feet,  as  it  slowly  backs 
out,  and  often  turning  two  or  three  corners.  This  ab- 
surdity has  been  seriously  claimed  as  what  must  neces- 
sarily take  place.  I  will  not  pretend  to  explain  the 
methods  of  a  chipmunk  when  burrowing,  but  that  it  is 
essentially  different  from  the  above  supposed  method  I 
am  confident. 

As  bearing  upon  this,  let  me  refer  to  what  I  have 
witnessed  in  the  case  of  a  land-tortoise  when  preparing 
to  go  into  winter-quarters.  It  was  one  that  I  had  had 
in  my  yard  for  several  years.     Twice  I  saw  it  preparing 


THE  LANDING.  249 

for  liibernation,  and  tlic  process  in  cacli  case  was  pre- 
cisely tlie  same.  The  animal  chose  a  spot  at  sonic  dis- 
tance from  any  tree,  as  though  desirous  of  escaping 
contact  with  roots  as  it  descended  into  the  earth.  With- 
out protruding  its  head,  the  tortoise  first  dug  a  shallow 
pit  but  a  mere  trace  larger  in  circumference  than  its 
shell.  The  fore -feet  only  were  used  to  displace  the 
earth,  but  with  its  hind-feet,  at  times,  it  would  effectu- 
ally scatter  this  loose  earth  in  every  direction.  When 
the  depth  of  the  pit  was  such  that  the  animal  could  no 
longer  dig  without  standing  on  its  head,  it  rested  upon 
all-fours  in  the  shallow  pit,  and  commenced  immediately 
the  task  of  lowering  itself  still  deeper  into  the  earth. 
By  exercising  great  care,  I  w^as  enabled  to  see  the  be- 
ginning of  the  work,  and  the  same  method  was  doubtless 
continued  unto  the  end.  By  a  vigorous  scratching  with 
all  four  feet  the  earth  beneath  the  creature's  plastron 
was  first  brought  to  the  sides  of  the  little  pit,  and  then 
slowly  was  j)uslied  upward  until  it  formed  a  rim  of  sand 
about  the  margin  of  the  carapace.  There  was  a  slight 
sidewise  dipping  motion  of  the  creature's  body  all  the 
while,  but  I  judged  that  by  the  feet  alone  it  not  only 
loosened  the  earth  beneath  but  Avorked  it  upward.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  the  quantity  of  this  displaced  earth 
was  gradually  increased  until  the  tortoise  disappeared. 
Just  a  day  later  I  dug  down  to  the  animal  and  found 
that  it  had  gone  to  a  depth  of  fifteen  inches,  and  the 
earth  displaced  and  scattered  was  not  one-twentieth  of 
what  it  had  actually  removed  from  beneath  and  worked 
above  it  in  the  manner  I  have  described. 

Here  wms  a  case  where  an  animal  buried  itself  witli- 
11- 


250  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

out  difficulty,  and  passed  tlirougli  a  layer  of  very  com- 
pact earth.  Scores  of  tortoises  do  the  same  every  year, 
and  possibly  reach  greater  depths. 

If,  then,  such  excavations  without  removal  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  displaced  earth  is  practicable  for  a  tortoise, 
may  it  not  be  equally  so  for  a  chipmunk,  that  works  in 
far  less  compact  earth  and  in  a  horizontal  direction? 
The  task  is  different  in  the  case  of  the  mammal,  to  be 
sure,  but  this  difference  is  less  significant  than  may  at 
first  be  thought.    I  refer  to  preserving  the  burrow  open 
as  it  proceeds.     I  find  that  in  the  sandy  hill-side,  where 
all  the  burrows  are  which  I  have  examined,  if  you  push 
a  stout  tube  into  the  earth  and  remove  so  much  as  the 
tube  will  contain,  then  the  side  of  the  excavation  made 
will  soon  crumble;  but  if  a  stick  of  the  same  size  is 
pushed  into  the  earth,  the  displaced  portion,  by  being 
made  more  compact,  is  firmly  fixed,  and  the  little  tunnel 
is  comparatively  permanent.    Does  not  the  peculiar  dig- 
ging motion  of  a  burrowing  mammal  have  the  effect 
necessarily  of  compacting  the  sides  of  the  tunnel  as  it 
progresses?     The  particles  detached  by  the  projecting 
fore-feet  must  unavoidably  fall  under  the  neck  and  belly 
of  the  animal,  and  the  motion  of  the  rapidly  moving 
limbs  must  pat  this  material,  which  again  is  pressed 
down  by  the  weight  of  the  animal's  abdomen.     In  such 
soils  as  I  have  examined,  all  of  very  loose  texture,  there 
did  not  seem  to  be  any  difficulty  in  rapidly  tunnelhng, 
but  skill  was  required  in  so  compacting  the  sides  of  the 
excavation  that  they  would  remain  intact. 

But  what  positive  evidence  have  we  that  a  mammal 
can  penetrate  even  sandy  soils  and  form  a  tunnel  as  it 


THE  LANDIXG.  251 

goes  ?  I  have  finally  met  with  what  appears  to  be  such 
evidence.  Twice  I  have  found  where  moles  had  made 
loose  tunnels  hy  heaving  up  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
and  coming  in  contact  with  a  projecting  bowlder,  had 
passed  beneath  it  and  reappeared  at  the  surface  at  a 
point  precisely  opposite  where  the  descent  had  been 
made.  In  these  cases  not  a  particle  of  earth  had  been 
brought  to  the  surface;  indeed,  could  have  been  so 
brought. 

More  recently  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  sur- 
prise chipmunks  in  short  tunnels,  and  securely  closed 
the  openings,  and  in  every  case  I  found  that  these  tun- 
nels were  largely  increased  in  depth,  or  a  curve  was 
made  and  the  animal  came  to  the  face  of  the  bluff  not 
far  from  the  opening  which  I  had  closed. 

Because  a  dog,  when  in  pursuit  of  an  animal  hidden 
in  some  burrow,  may  scatter  the  dirt  in  every  direction 
as  he  digs,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  pursued  mammal 
"  made  any  dirt "  at  all  in  excavating  his  subterranean 
retreat.  Whatever  may  be  true  of  marmots  in  other 
localities,  of  foxes  and  prairie-dogs,  it  is  quite  evident 
that  where  the  earth  is  of  so  loose  a  texture  as  on  our 
sloping  terrace  fronts,  the  chipmunk,  the  mole,  the  shrew, 
various  snakes  and  certain  insects,  find  it  practicable  to 
construct  underground  retreats  by  other  means  than  the 
complete  removal  to  the  surface  of  the  displaced  earth ; 
and  further,  such  is  the  character  of  the  soil,  that  actual 
removal  would  be  fatal  to  the  preservation  of  the  walls 
of  such  retreats.  Finally,  if  the  earth  is  not  removed, 
what  can  become  of  it,  if  not  compacted  by  the  ani- 
mal's body  as  it  makes  its  way  forward  ? 


253  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

Eeluctantly  leaving  tlie  beecli-tree,  about  wliicli  clus- 
ter so  many  pleasant  memories,  and  of  which  I  have 
heard  so  many  pleasant  things  told  me  in  former  years 
by  graybeards  no  longer  with  us,  I  wandered  to  a  sunny 
nook  where  orange-yellow  touch-me-not  filled  the  entire 
space,  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  plant.  A  walk 
through  the  little  thicket  was  quite  amusing.  On  every 
side  the  petty  musketry  of  their  exploding  seed -pods 
filled  the  air.  The  little  seeds  fairly  stung  when  they 
struck  me  in  the  face.  I  remained  for  several  minutes 
in  the  midst  of  these  plants,  to  determine  how  far  the 
countless  bees  and  butterflies  provoked  the  seed-vessels 
to  burst.  They  would  seem  to  be  too  gentle  in  their 
movements  generally.  One  burly  bumblebee  did  indeed 
appear  to  receive  a  broadside  on  his  "ribs,"  as  he  turned 
over  in  mid-air,  buzzed  a  loud  guffaw  at  the  fun,  and  sped 
off  to  more  hospitable  quarters. 

As  the  day  drew  to  a  close,  I  again  sought  my  boat 
upon  the  sandy  beach,  and  met,  while  journeying  thither, 
an  employe  of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey. 
He  had  been  mapping  Crosswicks  Creek,  and  kindly 
gave  me  some  interesting  information.  The  corner- 
stone at  the  blacksmith's  shop  is  ninety-nine  feet  eleven 
and  one -half  inches  above  high -water  mark  at  Sandy 
Plook.  My  neighbor's  big  brick  house  stands  ninety- 
seven  feet  six  inches  above  the  same  level,  but  where 
my  house  stands  there  is  only  seventy-seven  feet  eleva- 
tion of  which  to  boast.  (I  had  always  been  told  before 
that  it  was  eighty  feet.) 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  feel  unhappy  because  the  black- 


THE  LANDING.  253 

smith's  sliop  is  more  tlmn  twenty  feet  nearer  lieaven, 
but  I  do  not.  If  I  am  "  farther  off  from  heaven  than 
when  I  was  a  hoy,"  I  still  have  no  lack  of  company  in 
the  wee  beasties,  pretty  birds,  and  brilliant  butterllies 
that  forty  years  have  never  failed  to  make  this  lower 
reijion  all  that  I  wished. 

* 

Again  afloat,  I  pushed,  since  it  was  a  little  past  high 
tide,  into  the  wild-rice  that  clusters  on  a  marshy  island 
near,  and  there,  hid  from  the  outside  world,  watched  the 
slowly  descending  sun.  It  was  a  fit  jilace  wherein  to 
realize  what  is  solitude.  The  marsh-wrens  for  a  while 
seemed  to  stand  in  awe  of  me,  and  I  heard  no  sound 
save  the  distant  cawing  of  a  crow.  Somewhat  weary, 
I  lay  flat  upon  my  back  and  kept  company  with  the 
clouds.  But  the  feathered  world  soon  spied  me  out.  The 
wrens  grew  bold,  and  anon  a  "  moping  heron,"  that  for 
long  had  been  standing  "  motionless  and  stiff,"  came 
slowly  towards  me,  and  Avith  one  wild  barbaric  yawp, 
published  my  whereabouts  to  every  creature.  As  once 
before,  I  soon  became  an  object  of  interest,  and  while 
returning  the  curious  gaze  of  many  birds,  forgot  that  the 
tide  never  takes  a  rest ;  and  so,  when  the  increasing  dark- 
ness bade  me  hurry  home,  I  found  myself  stranded  on  a 
fathomless  expanse  of  quivering  mud.  The  mud  would 
not  bear  my  weight,  or  else  1  could  have  waded  to  the 
runninir  water  and  draGjcjed  the  boat  after  me;  so  I  set- 
tied  down,  with  no  good  grace,  to  wait  for  hours  before 
I  could  go  home. 

Had  I  desired  to  spend  an  evening  on  the  marsh,  no 
doubt  but  I  should  have  found  an  abundance  of  enter- 


254  WASTE-LAND  ^VANDERINGS. 

tainment ;  as  it  was,  my  plans  being  quite  frustrated,  I 
saw  no  beauty  or  interest  in  any  object.  Such  is  the 
perversity  of  human  nature.  I^ever  before  had  I  heard 
such  a  concert  of  owls ;  never  before  had  the  marsh- 
wrens  twittered  so  cheerily,  nor  the  wild  -  rice  teemed 
with  such  a  wealth  of  nocturnal  insect  life,  j^ature  Avas 
celebrating  the  advent  of  the  harvest-moon  ;  and  yet,  be- 
cause I  had  planned  otherwise,  I  was  in  no  mood  to  enjoy 
a  rare  opportunity  for  studying  the  meadows  by  moon- 
liglit. 

A  little  later,  circumstances  forced  me  to  be  less  fret- 
ful and  more  studious.  While  slowly  urging  my  skiff 
over  the  soft  mud  by  very  short  and  most  uneasy  stages, 
I  reached  the  carcass  of  a  dog  that  was  being  gradually 
devoured  by  myriads  of  small  eels. 

This  grewsome  sight  recalled  the  unfortunate 

"  Sir  Thomas's  body, 
It  looked  so  odd — he 
Was  half  eaten  up  by  the  eels! 
His  waistcoat  and  hose,  and  the  rest  of  his  clothes, 
Were  all  gnawed  through  and  through ; 
And  out  of  each  shoe 
An  eel  they  drew, 
And  from  each  of  his  pockets  they  pulled  out  two!" 

I  would  refer  these  lines  to  those  who  of  late  have  in- 
sisted upon  the  fact  that  eels  are  very  dainty,  and  refuse 
all  food  that  they  do  not  capture  and  kill. 

At  last  I  reached  the  running  water  and  was  again 
afloat,  but  not  until  long  after  the  day  had  closed — a  day 
that  I  could  wish  different  but  in  one  respect ;  it  had 
been  too  full  of  pleasant  sights  and  sounds. 


CnAPTER  IX. 
THE  DRAWBRIDGE. 


I  UAYE  yet  to  see  the  rambler  wlio  finds  the  jumping 
of  fences  exhilarating.  When  one  crosses  his  path  there 
may  be  no  audible  comment,  but  thoughts  multiply. 
Particularly  is  this  the  case  when  the  barrier  to  his  prog- 
ress is  constructed  of  spiked  wire. 

The  fence  that  gives  least  offence  is  the  quaint  old 
zigzag  series  of  chestnut  rails,  staked  up  with  twisted 
ce'dai^saplings  and  chunked  by  moss-covered  bowlders 
just  peeping  above  the  ground.  This  once  common 
feature  of  all  our  fields  merits  a  word  in  its  defence. 

What  feature  of  a  long  cultivated  country  can  boast 
of  so  many  attractions  to  a  rambling  naturalist  as  one 
of  these  worm-fences  ?  Indeed,  the  very  existence  of  not 
a  few  animals,  in  many  localities,  depends  upon  these 
roomy  structures,  that  secure  to  them  a  strip  of  land 
eight  to  ten  feet  wide.  Insignificant  as  bare  earth,  it  is 
true  ;  but  far  from  it  when  densely  overgrown  with  im- 
penetrable tangles  of  thorn-bearing  vegetation. 

Here  congregate  in  confidence  weasels,  skunks,  mink, 
chipmunks,  and  mice.  Bluebirds  and  wrens  find  con- 
yenient  nesting  -  places  in  the  hollow  rails,  sparrows  in 
the  low  bushes  filling  all  the  angles.  The  lithe  green 
lizard  is  happy  among  the  upper  rails,  where  he  can 
still  bask  with  safety  in  the  glowing  August  sunshme. 


256  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

And  whenever  any  of  these  chance  to  wander  far 
a-field,  they  well  know  it  is  to  a  city  of  refuge  to  which 
they  speed  when  hurrying  to  the  little  forest  that  hedges 
an  old  worm-fence. 

Tlie  pretty  tree-toad,  quaint  hatrachian  philosopher,  is 
not  loath  to  squat  about  the  lichen  patches  of  the  older 
rails,  and  finds  a  safe  home  in  the  hollows  of  such  as  are 
slowly  decaying  and  hold  the  chance-caught  rain-drops 
in  their  mossy  nooks. 

Of  fish  as  dwellers  about  fences  I  can  say  but  little ; 
yet  one  worm-fence  in  a  distant  meadow  will  ever  re- 
main memorable,  from  the  fact  that  a  herring  dropped 
by  a  fish -hawk  safely  lodged  thereon,  and  was  carried 
home  in  triumph  by  me,  years  before  I  reached  my 
teens.  Would  that  subsequent  days  a -fishing  had 
proved  half  so  happy  ! 

Of  insect  and  arachnian  life  there  is  literally  no  end. 
Flies,  beetles,  and  wingless  crawling  life ;  spiders,  both 
great  and  small,  of  sombre  tints  and  the  most  brilliant 
hues. 

And  the  botany !  There  is  no  need  to  catalogue  the 
plants  actually  gathered  from  the  angles  of  the  fence. 
Eecall  the  smilax,  blackberry,  ivy,  wild-grape,  and  Vir- 
ginia creeper,  for  the  little  thickets  that  delight  the 
thrush  and  make  glad  the  heart  of  the  to-whee  bunting ; 
recall  the  cedars  that  tower  above  these  sinuous  growths, 
and,  too,  the  palm -like  foliage  of  the  sapling  sumacs. 
Where  else  so  completely  at  home  is  that  embodiment 
of  midsummer  vivacity,  the  indigo-bird  ?  The  chinkapin 
bushes  wherein  jays  gather — what  more  suggestive  pict- 
ure does  a  farming  country  offer  ? 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  257 

A  fact  or  two  statistical  concerning  tlicse  fences. 
When  Kalm,  the  Swedish  naturalist,  travelled  through 
Kew  Jersey,  he  studied  these  structures,  as  well  as  the 
animals  they  harbor,  and  his  account  is  of  considerable 
interest :  ^'  The  enclosures  made  use  of  in  .  .  .  Xew  Jer- 
sey," he  says,  "  are  those  which,  on  account  of  their  ser- 
pentine form  resembling  worms,  are  called  worm-fences. 
.  .  .  Experience  lias  shown  that  an  enclosure  made  of 
chestnut  or  white-oak  seldom  holds  out  above  ten  or 
twelve  years  before  the  poles  and  posts  are  thoroughly  rot- 
ten," and  then  wonders  "  what  sort  of  an  appearance  the 
country  will  have  forty  or  fifty  years  hence  " — he  wrote 
in  1749 — if  some  new  fencing  methods  are  not  devised. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Kalm  was  misinformed  as  to  the 
durability  of  our  woods  when  thus  used,  or  a  great 
change  has  taken  place.  I  know  of  a  fence  erected  in 
182G  that  is  at  present  in  fairly  good  condition,  and 
contains  a  large  percentage  of  the  original  cedar  rails ; 
and  the  newer  chestnut  rails,  with  which  the  fence  was 
last  repaired,  are  nearly  thirty  years  old.  So,  too, 
Kalm  was  in  error  about  posts  placed  in  the  ground. 
"White -oak  now  will  last  for  twenty  years,  and  cedar 
as  long ;  locust  posts  are  still  in  use,  and  are  yet  firm, 
which  have  been  in  the  ground  for  half  a  century.  The 
catalpa,  too,  is  quite  equal  to  locust,  perhaps  better. 
Much  depends,  I  take  it,  upon  the  condition  of  the 
wood  when  placed  in  position.  It  should  be  thorough- 
ly dry.  Perhaps  Kalm's  informers  were  not  acquainted 
with  this  fact ;  and  I  cannot  but  think  that  the  earth  had 
some  corrosive  element  in  it  two  centuries  ago  which  it 
does  not  now  possess,  or  in  far  less  degree. 


258  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

Our  author's  fears  that  general  deforesting  of  the 
country  would  prove  disastrous  were  better  founded ; 
yet  we  have  not  wholly  come  to  grief.  Let  one  climb 
to  the  top  of  a  tall  tree  and  look  over  the  most  open 
countr}" — he  will  often  have  to  look  sharply  to  see  the 
fields,  farm-houses,  and  even  villages,  so  hidden  are  they 
by  the  abundance  of  trees.  Scattered  along  the  road- 
side and  by  the  cross  fences,  they  are  ignored  by  the 
pedestrian,  unless  he  seeks  their  shade ;  but  when  seen 
from  an  elevation,  these  comparatively  few  trees  about 
our  farmxS  aggregate  many  thousands,  and  we  realize 
that  while  there  are  next  to  no  forests  left,  we  yet  are 
preserved  from  the  dreariness  of  a  desert. 

And  now,  having  generalized  to  the  degree  of  te- 
diousness,  vv^hat  of  some  old  worm-fence  particularized  ? 

Partly  because  the  ground  is  rather  unproductive, 
and  more  because  there  is  a  superabundance  of  it,  one 
such  fence  within  the  range  of  my  wanderings  has 
been  left  undisturbed  for  more  than  half  a  century.  To 
cross  it,  except  at  the  bars,  which  are  themselves  not 
always  free  from  weeds,  is  absolutely  impossible.  The 
impenetrable  tangle  of  vines  in  this  case  extends  fully 
half  a  rod  on  either  side,  and  up  through  it  tower  trees 
that  are  models — tall,  shapely,  and  so  widely  scattered 
that  never  a  twig  has  suffered  for  want  of  room. 

I  clambered  over  the  splintery,  half-decayed  bars  of 
this  old  fence  on  my  way  to  the  creek  to-day,  i3uri3osely 
taking  a  new  and  circuitous  route,  because  of  an  early 
start.  I  crossed  over  carefully,  and  let  me  add  paren- 
thetically, that  I  am  tempted  to  assert  that  misfortune 
awaits  me  whenever  I  quit  the  firm  earth.     It  is,  of 


TUE  DRAWBRIDGE.  259 

course,  necessary  for  a  naturalist  to  climb  trees,  to  leap 
fences,  to  cross  quicksands ;  and  one  devoid  of  skill  can 
readily  come  to  grief.  How  confidently,  but  a  few 
days  ago,  I  sprang  to  the  top  rail  of  a  fence  near  by, 
and  spinning  quarter  way  around,  not  simply  did  I  face 
in  tlie  direction  I  desired  to  go,  but  screwed  myself  fast 
to  an  unseen  projection  of  that  same  top  rail  —  then 
dangled  hopelessly  among  the  weeds.  The  result  was 
as  likely  to  be  serious  as  ludicrous,  but  fortune  favored 
me  so  far  as  to  grant  a  release,  with  a  large  percentage 
of  an  important  garment  left  as  toll  with  that  inexorable 
fence.  Besides  the  loss  of  time,  it  was  exasperating  to 
stand  amid  briers  with  half -clad  limbs,  and  see  how 
easily  all  the  trouble  might  have  been  avoided.  It  was 
-worse  to  return  in  so  dilapidated  a  condition  and  run 
the  gantlet  of  anxious  inquirers  as  I  sought  the  clothes- 
press. 

The  history  of  a  chestnut  rail  can  be  read  almost  with- 
out an  effort.  IIow  vividly  there  comes  to  me  the  pict- 
ure of  one  old  woodman,  as  he  shouldered  his  keen  axe 
and  started  for  the  woods !  How  plainly  I  see  him  in 
the  snow-clad  forest,  resting  a  moment  from  his  work, 
and  telling  of  some  wild  hunt  or  strange  mishap  that 
befell  him  when  a  boy  !  Then,  too,  looms  up  the  patient 
ox-team,  with  the  load  of  rails  upon  the  sled  ;  and  better 
than  all,  the  pile  of  gnarly  sticks  not  even  the  wood- 
man's axe  could  conquer,  and  which,  in  due  time,  blazed 
in  that  cavernous  fireplace  before  which  I  passed  so 
many  glorious  winter  nights — nights,  if  a  storm  raged, 
which  were  sure  to  recall  the  thrilling  stories  of  those 


260  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

early  days  wlien  forests  enclosed  the  scattered  fields,  not 
fields  that  surrounded  mere  remnanto  of  the  forest. 

I  do  not  know  whether  any  of  the  original  rails  are 
still  remaining,  probably  not ;  but  a  fence  of  this  rude 
pattern  has  been  here  for  two  centuries,  and  portions  of 
it  have  every  appearance  of  long  antedating  the  very 
oldest  inhabitant.  Many  a  rail  can  be  found  that  is  no 
longer  an  obstacle  to  man  or  beast.  Indeed,  some  of 
them  depend  for  their  very  existence  npon  the  aid  of 
the  dense  growths  that  uphold  them.  One  giant  sassa- 
fras has  actually  incorporated  a  portion  of  a  sturdy  ce- 
dar rail,  which,  if  removed,  would  leave  a  hole  directly 
through  the  trunk  of  the  tree. 

To  the  few  remaining  old  worm  -  fences,  then,  the 
thanks  of  the  rambler  are  due  for  many  favors ;  for 
where  else  than  in  the  densely  overgrown  headlands  that 
divide  our  fields  could  many  a  creature  find  so  safe  a 
retreat  in  a  neighborhood  like  this  ?  It  takes  the  place 
of  extensive  forests,  of  trackless  swamps,  of  immovable 
rocks.  Let  the  rambler  be  j)atient,  then,  when  such  a 
worm-fence  crosses  his  path.  Let  him  stop  and  study 
it,  panel  by  panel,  unless  abroad  upon  some  special  er- 
rand. 

Here  he  is  surest,  perhaps,  of  meeting  with  weasels, 
if  they  are  abroad  by  day ;  nor  let  him  be  too  bold  if 
there  be  a  number  of  them.  They  well  know  that  in 
union  there  is  strength,  and  it  is  no  unusual  occurrence 
for  them  to  show  fight  at  such  a  time ;  and  no  creat- 
ure can  bite  more  savagely,  or  aim  for  vital  spots  more 
surely. 

The  weasel's  distant  cousin,  the  skunk,  is  also  a  lover 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  2G1 

of  tlicse  old  fences,  and  knows  their  nooks  and  corners 
as  well  as  his  northern  brethren  know  the  safe  crannies 
of  an  old  stone  wall. 

The  raccoon,  too,  has  occasion  to  think  well  of  fences. 
From  his  hollow  tree  he  will  carefully  crawl  to  the  top 
rail  of  the  fence  below,  and  run  a  long  distance,  a  dozen 
panels,  perhaps,  before  touching  the  ground,  and  so  the 
prowling  dogs  are  hopelessly  baffled. 

Bats  have  learned  the  comfort,  if  they  do  not  know 
the  security,  of  a  weed-encompassed  fence,  and  hang  by 
day  from  the  lower  side  of  a  broad  rail  in  blissful  expec- 
tation of  the  coming  night. 

Lastly,  the  pert  chipmunks.  The  first  lesson  in  geog- 
raphy taught  them,  I  take  it,  is  the  zigzag  coast-line  of 
the  nearest  fence.  And  once  learned,  what  more  grace- 
ful sight  than  to  see  them  dart  from  panel  to  panel, 
dodging  the  knot-holes,  leaping  the  projections,  hugging 
the  under  side  of  a  rail  for  an  instant,  and  then  peeping 
slyly  at  you  from  some  coigne  of  vantage  that  it  seeks 
when  danger  threatens.  It  does  not  appear  that  chip- 
munks are  at  a  disadvantage  upon  any  uneven  surface, 
but  their  grace  culminates  scurrying  at  utmost  speed 
adown  the  warped  sections  of  an  old  worm-fence. 

The  ornithology  of  these  fences  is  half  the  bird  his- 
tory of  the  county.  It  cannot  be  dwelt  upon  now,  but 
a  few  marked  features  of  it  may  be  briefly  mentioned. 
Here,  about  the  rank  growths  of  poke,  thistle,  and  James- 
town weed,  congregate  those  beautiful  yellow  and  black 
finches^ 

Whose  wavy  flight  and  cheery  whistle 
Adorn  the  wastes  o'ergrown  with  thistle: 


263  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS, 

Ko  field  so  foul  witli  noisome  weeds 
But  there  tlie  dainty  goldfinch  feeds, 
And  greets  with  song  the  fervent  rays 
That  flood  high  noon  of  August  days. 

Here,  swinging  upon  the  ti^^s  of  bending  weeds,  or 
curving  the  uppermost  twig  of  some  tall  tree,  the  no 
less  beautiful  indigo  finch  sings  with  an  ardor  no  other 
bird  excels.  The  hotter  the  day  the  sweeter  the  song ; 
and  if  the  gloaming  brings  no  coolness,  even  through 
the  night  this  little  finch  will  repeat  the  songs  that  gave 
life  to  the  fields  at  noon. 

And  later,  when  the  winter  migrants  come,  nowhere 
else  am  I  so  sure  to  find  that  prince  of  sparrows,  the 
royal  foxy  finch,  and  surely  nowhere  do  the  flocking 
white -tliroats  congregate  as  here,  and  sing  with  such 
full-voiced  energy,  morning,  noon,  and  niglit.  Wiien 
winter  nears  its  end  they  are  all  impatience,  it  would 
seem,  to  reach  their  northern  home ;  for  when  the  glim- 
mer of  the  April  moon  fills  the  dense  hedge-row  with 
uncertain  light,  these  birds  still  sing,  and  even  start 
from  their  perches,  as  though  their  homeward  journey 
had  commenced. 

That  they  are  dreaming  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and 
not  the  w^eird  chat  alone  is  given  to  curious  antics  long 
after  the  world  is  supposed  to  be  at  rest. 

Bluebirds,  of  course,  love  the  old  hollow  rails,  and 
perched  upon  the  out -reaching  stakes,  sing  their  best 
soncfs. 

Wrens  have  long  since  learned  that  an  old  fence  is 
their  best  hunting-ground. 

"Woodpeckers,  both  great  and  small,  even  to  the  little 


TUE  DRAWBRIDGE.  203 

downy  fellow,  flit  from  stake  to  stake  watcliiug  the 
plodding  plougliinan  at  liis  toil,  and  scolding  mildly 
when  he  comes  too  near. 

It  was  at  these  weed -hidden  bars  that  I  once  wit- 
nessed a  riot  in  wrendom.  A  pair  of  vigorous  Caro- 
linas  and  four  irate  house-wrens  had  met  to  settle  a  dis- 
pute. They  had  no  judge  to  which  to  appeal,  nor  w^as 
there  an  attentive  jury,  but  every  bush  was  crowded 
w^ith  spectators. 

As  my  old  friend  TJz  Gaunt  once  remarked,  "  TVhen 
any  smooth -headed  bird  raises  its  crest,  look  out  for 
fun."  I  saw  something  like  this,  and  was  at  once  on 
the  alert  for  interesting  developments.  Not  one  of  the 
six  wrens  but  had  every  feather  of  its  head  pointing 
upward,  and  Avith  it  all  each  spluttered,  stuttered, 
screamed,  and  hissed  until  nearly  exhausted.  Every 
syllable  of  the  wrenish  language  w^as  uttered  w4th  em- 
phasis. Every  few  seconds  one  or  more  would  with- 
draw, as  though  to  recover  breath,  and  then  reaj^pear, 
excited  and  disputatious  as  ever.  But  it  was  a  w^ar  of 
words  only,  and  became  monotonous.  In  hopes  of  de- 
termining the  cause  of  the  difficulty,  I  thrust  myself 
among  them  and  scattered  the  spectators,  but  not  the 
wrens.  They  resented  my  interference  ;  and  while  not 
quite  willing  to  attack  me,  became  allies  for  the  time, 
and  vented  their  spleen  in  no  uncertain  manner.  I 
withdrew  to  a  short  distance,  when  the  wrens  reassem- 
bled at  the  fence,  and  the  quarrel  soon  waxed  louder 
than  ever,  and  thus  engaged  I  left  them. 

Two  days  later  I  found  the  Carolina  wrens  in  peace- 
ful possession  of  the  spot,  and  in  an   adjoining  panel 


264  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

thej  had  a  roomy  nest.  May  not  the  wrangle  have 
been  a  lawsuit  concerning  this  desirable  bit  of  real  es- 
tate ? 

There  are  very  few  people  who  know  a  wren  when 
they  see  it.  Do  not  take  me  np,  captious  critic,  and 
insist  that  this  is  too  sweeping  a  statement.  Have  you 
tested  the  matter  ?  In  all  probability  not.  I  have.  It 
is  not  enough  to  know  only  the  pair  that  nest  in  cosey 
quarters  you  have  provided  for  them.  There  are  wrens 
and  wrens,  as  there  are  people  and  people,  and  your 
door-yard  couples  are  sadly  uninteresting  when  com- 
pared with  their  wilder  brethren  that  have  roughed  it 
for  the  season  in  a  hollow  fence-rail— suffer  in  compari- 
son, just  as  the  gilded  youths  of  large  cities  so  often 
dwindle  to  absolute  insignificance  when  seen  by  the  side 
of  their  wide-awake  country  cousins. 

But  the  tenants  of  the  wild  woods  know  the  wrens 
full  well,  and  usually  give  them  a  wide  berth.  They 
realize  that  they  are  petty  tyrants,  suffering  no  intru- 
sion and  excusing  no  blunder;  particularly  so  when 
something  has  gone  wrong  with  them;  then  it  is  ''a 
word  and  a  blow,  and  the  blow  first."  Even  hornets 
stand  back  when  there  is  a  riot  in  wrendom. 

Nowhere  do  the  few  remaining  black-snakes  find  so 
sure  a  retreat  as  beneath  the  bottom  rail  of  the  fence, 
wdiere  it  is  beyond  the  reach  of  every  foe ;  and  where, 
too,  it  has  the  entrance  to  a  snug  underground  retreat. 
From  such  weedy  coverts  these  shy  serpents  occasion- 
ally venture  far  a-field,  and  it  is  as  instructive  as  amus- 
ing to  see  with  what  promptness  they  dart  directly 
towards  the  fence,  even  if  you  happen  to  be  between 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  2C5 

the  snake  and  its  home.  However  higli  the  weeds,  the 
direction  is  never  mistaken,  and  they  seek  shelter  with 
that  celerity  of  movement  no  other  creeping  creature 
can  obtain. 

A  friend  of  my  early  boyhood,  and  now  but  a  chance 
acquaintance,  is  the  pretty,  vivacious,  amusing  lizard 
that  years  ago  made  this  same  fence  its  home.  I  should 
be  glad  to  know  why  it  has  forsaken  us.  There  certain- 
ly has  been  no  change  in  the  fence,  and  next  to  nothing 
in  the  surroundings,  since  it  was  as  common  a  feature 
of  our  fauna  as  tree-sparrows  in  winter.  But  it  has  left 
us.  For  years  I  have  not  seen  one,  and  have  nothing 
to  say  concerning  them  save  what  I  recall  of  a  distant 
but  not  shadowy  past.  Year  after  year,  about  the  mid- 
dle of  June,  I  was  teased  with  visions  of  a  dewberry- 
pie,  and  straightway  sought  certain  briery  fields,  where 
for  the  labor  of  gathering  was  to  be  had  an  abundance 
of  the  coal-black  fruit.  The  task  performed,  how  invit- 
ing were  the  shady  nooks  of  the  old  worm-fence !  With 
no  laggard  steps  I  huiTied  thither,  and  catching  the 
scented  breezes  fluttering  through  the  rails,  revelled  in 
the  luxury  of  a  well-earned  rest.  My  friends  crowded 
about  me.  The  chipmunks  stared,  whistled  a  welcome, 
and  were  gone  ;  the  dainty  field-sparrow  trilled  from  the 
tapering  cedar's  top ;  the  tree-toads  croaked ;  the  burly 
carpenter-bee  hummed  heartily ;  and  darting  past  me  as 
swift  shadows  were  the  shy  lizards,  whose  presence  made 
me  forgetful  of  all  discomfort,  as  I  wistfully  gazed  after 
them  far  down  the  sunny  reaches  of  the  fence. 

All  my  ingenuity  was  exercised  in  efforts  to  caj)ture 
12 


266  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

tliem,  and  summer  after  summer  passed  without  success 
attending  them.  ]S"ot  one  hut  was  too  swift  for  me. 
Time  after  time  I  struck  at  them  with  long  switches, 
always  aiming  well  ahead,  yet  never  succeeding  in  ac- 
comphshing  more  than  the  amputation  of  their  tails. 
They  seemed  always  bent  upon  going  forward,  and 
dodged  me  successfully  when  I  attempted  to  check 
their  progress.  "  Forward !"  was  their  motto ;  forward 
they  went,  and  disappeared. 

I  could  never  find  their  nests,  nor  see  their  young; 
never  could  discover  their  winter  retreats,  nor  learn 
how  far  they  are  affected  by  the  weather.  They  came 
and  went  along  the  sunny  highway  of  the  ancient  fence  ; 
travelled  it  from  April  till  October,  and  were  gone. 
Strangers  as  they  were,  I  always  hailed  them  as  my 
friends,  and  look  for  them  now,  listening  for  their  fleet- 
ing footsteps  where  the  hot  sunshine  falls,  and  seeing 
them  only  wlien,  with  closed  eyes,  I  recall  the  happy 
wanderings  of  many  a  year  ago. 

Even  when  the  grasping  farmer  raids  upon  the  pretty 
tangle  of  wild  growths  that  another  furrow  may  be  add- 
ed to  his  field,  the  naked  fence  becomes  no  eyesore  to 
the  wanderer.  Wild  life  will  love  it  still,  though  shorn 
of  half  its  glory.  But  set  in  its  little  wilderness,  it  is  a 
country  worthy  of  exploration,  and  fruitful,  be  it  in  sum- 
mer or  in  winter,  of  strange  adventure,  curious  knowl- 
edge, and  facts  that  are  treasures  to  him  who  delves  for 
Nature's  mysteries. 


The  voyage  of  to-day  was  but  the  rounding  of  a  little 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  2G7 

bend.  Scarcely  Lad  the  boat  rippled  the  flood-tide  of 
the  glittering  waters  when  I  checked  its  course,  and 
from  my  point  of  view  in  mid-stream  gazed  upon  an 
ancient  bridge  that  here  spans  the  creek.  It  is  an  un- 
couth structure  that  the  close-fisted  freeholders  of  that 
day  saw  fit  to  build  sixty  years  ago ;  and  the  farmers 
finding  no  name  so  easy  as  that  learned  in  their  child- 
hood, called  it  the  "  drawbridge,"  as  though  it  was  but 
a  second  edition  of  the  open  structure  that  preceded  it, 
and  which  had  a  "draw"  in  it  for  the  accommodation  of 
those  masted  vessels  that,  as  we  have  seen,  passed  far 
up  the  creek.  I  wish  heartily  that  the  Quaker  settlers 
who  dwelt  here  had  handed  down  some  pretty  romance 
or  details  of  some  bloody  tragedy  concerning  this  earlier 
bridge.  It  certainly  was  old  enough  when,  in  1827,  it 
was  removed,  to  have  a  thrilling  history,  and  in  a  spot 
romantic  enough  to  have  made  poets  of  some  of  the 
sturdy  youths  who  for  years  were  accustomed  to  pass  to 
and  fro  over  its  oaken  planks. 

I  might,  indeed,  fearless  of  contradiction,  have  purpled 
the  stream  with  the  blood  of  innocents,  and  peopled  the 
woods  hard  by  with  headless  ghosts  ;  but  alas !  just  here, 
colonial  days  were  days  of  colorless  prose,  nothing  more 
exciting  than  the  arrival  of  a  travelling  preacher — John 
Woolman  or  Thomas  Chalkley — ever  causing  the  Cross- 
wicks  Friends  to  so  much  as  raise  their  eyebrows. 

But  why,  it  may  be  asked,  is  there  a  bridge  here  at 
all?  Let  us  go  back  to  even  earlier  than  colonial  times. 
On  Lindstrom's  map,  1054,  the  surveyor  caused  to  be 
printed,  besides  the  various  Indian  names,  certain  inter- 
esting facts;  and  at  the  mouth  of  this  creek,  "Median- 


268  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

sio  sipu,"  as  lie  calls  it,  he  states  that  "here  commences 
Manahattan's  Wagar,  or  Eoad  to  Manhattan."  If  a  high- 
way existed,  as  there  pointed  out,  it  must  have  been  but 
rarely  travelled  by  Europeans  so  early  as  1654 ;  for  it 
was  not  until  nearly  forty  years  later  that  any  land  was 
occupied  between  the  Delaware  and  the  Earitan.  It  is 
now,  and  has  been  for  over  two  Imndred  years,  a  public 
road,  and  before  the  building  of  railroads  was  the  stage 
route,  or  one  of  them,  from  the  Delaware  eastward  to  the 
towns  between  Bordentown  and  New  York.  And  long 
years  before  all  this— who  shall  say  how  many?— it  was 
the  well-worn  trail  of  the  Indians,  who  crossed  the  river 
from  Pennsylvania  near  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  and 
passed  along  the  terrace  that  forms  the  bold  east  shore 
of  the  stream,  and  crossed  it  where  now  it  is  spanned 
by  this  shapeless  structure.  The  European  in  many 
ways  followed  closely  in  the  footsteps  of  his  dusky  pred- 
ecessors ;  and  at  this  spot,  where  the  Indians'  stepping- 
stones  were  lying  in  the  sand,  the  early  settlers  drove 
down  pilings  and  rested  thereupon  the  ancient  draw- 
bridge.    Some  of  these  are  still  to  be  seen  at  low  tide. 

But  if  there  be  no  startling  colonial  history,  the  bridge, 
the  creek,  and  the  valley  have  a  bit  of  revolutionary  rec- 
ord that  might  have  been  famous  had  it  been,  like  the 
fight  at  Concord  bridge,  of  some  significance. 

The  original  drawbridge  spanned  the  stream  in  June, 
1778,  when  the  British  soldiers  '^  attempted  to  cross 
Crosswicks  Creek  over  a  drawbridge  .  .  .  three  regi- 
ments (of  militia)  remaining  near,  after  a  general  with- 
drawal of  the  Continental  troops.  A  party  of  the 
enemy  appearing,  with  great  zeal  began  to  repair  the 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  2G9 

bridge,  the  planks  of  wliicli  luid  been  pulled  np  and  the 
draw  raised.  For  this  purpose  they  ripped  oil  the  planks 
from  an  adjoining  hay-hoiise.  Uj^on  their  approach 
the  militia  rushed  down  with  the  greatest  impetuosity, 
and  a  small  party  from  one  of  the  regiments,  liappening 
to  be  considerably  advanced,  caused  them  to  retire  with 
the  loss  of  four  killed  and  several  wounded."  It  would 
appear  from  this  that  none  of  them  came  across,  yet 
years  after,  in  regrading  the  public  road,  a  few  bits  of 
metal  were  found  that  seemed  to  indicate  that  an  officer 
had  been  buried  on  the  north  side  of  the  creek.  Well, 
it  matters  not,  and  j)atriotic  Americans  can  only  regret 
that  a  great  many  more  than  four  had  not  fallen  in  tliat 
June  skirmish. 

The  Quakers  about  here  were,  almost  to  a  man,  very 
lukewarm  in  the  cause  of  indej)endence,  and  very  grudg- 
ingly gave  aid  to  the  soldiers  who  defended  the  bridge. 
They  claimed  to  be  non-combatants,  and  so  were  pas- 
sive spectators  of  the  stirring  scenes  enacted  at  Tren- 
ton, Princeton,  and  Monmouth.  Their  caution  prevent- 
ed their  suffering  persecution,  but  it  was  far  diiferent 
with  the  more  outspoken  Tories.  One  Isaac  Pearson, 
a  Church  of  England  man,  was  less  fortunate  than  his 
neighbors.  He  was  too  outspoken,  and,  wearing  no 
Quaker  garb,  was  singled  out  as  a  dangerous  man. 
While  at  Ilightstown,  not  far  away,  he  was  apprised 
that  soldiers  were  in  pursuit.  He  rushed  for  his  horse, 
and  just  as  he  entered  the  stable  was  shot. 

He  it  was  who  built,  some  years  before,  a  once  famous 
hostelry  that  stood  within  sight  of  the  old  bridge. 
When  the  new  road  was  laid  out,  about  1795,  the  tavern 


270  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

was  moved  to  its  present  site.  Pearson's  Inn  it  had 
been;  but  now  a  new  name  was  desired,  as  well  as  a 
sign  to  swing  from  the  old  buttonwood  that  still  is 
standing.  The  writer's  grandfather  agreed  to  furnish 
the  sign,  but  found,  when  he  commenced  the  task,  that 
he  had  only  a  single  pot  of  white  paint.  He  sketched 
a  horse  at  full  gallop,  used  the  paint  he  had  to  color  it, 
and  so  gave  the  name  of  "White  Horse"  to  the  tavern, 
wliicli  it  still  retains. 

]^ear  this  place  until  July,  18G9,  stood  the  largest 
white-oak  in  the  county,  and  probably  in  the  State.  It 
was  something  to  stand  under  the  wide-spreading  boughs 
of  a  tree  that  was  w^ell  grown  before  Columbus  pleaded 
with  Isabella  for  permission  to  cross  the  seas.  This  oak 
had  droi:)ped  its  acorns  over  a  sod  pressed  by  no  human 
foot,  save  that  of  the  Indian,  before  the  continent  of 
America  was  heard  of  by  our  European  ancestry ;  and  as 
one  of  the  few  trees  of  Indian  times  that  remained  to 
us,  it  very  appropriately  contained  a  flint  arrow  in  its 
heart,  and  had  buried  among  its  deepest  roots  a  grooved 
stone  axe. 

This  mighty  oak,  w^hich  measured  twenty-seven  feet 
in  circumference  three  feet  from  the  ground,  was  so  in- 
jured by  a  violent  gale  of  wind  that  its  removal  became 
necessary.  It  stood  upon  a  knoll,  and  from  this  the  im- 
mense stump  was  subsequently  removed.  The  excava- 
tion was  seven  feet  in  depth  and  nearly  twelve  in  diam- 
eter. Four  feet  below  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  or  eleven 
feet  from  the  surface  of  the  ground,  I  found  a  very  rude 
stone  axe  entangled  in  a  mass  of  fibrous  roots.  The  ap- 
pearances were  all  such  as  to  indicate  that  the  axe  had 


THE  DRA.WBRIDGE.  271 

been  lost  and  buried  before  the  acorn  sprouted  wliicli 
became  this  greatest  of  our  oaks.  As  the  age  of  trees 
is  usually  estimated,  and  in  this  case  correctly,  it  is  quite 
certain  that  the  tree  was  a  tliousand  years  old,  and  that 
prior  to  this  the  Indian  axe  had  been  lost.  Some  little 
clew,  therefore,  have  we  to  the  length  of  time  during 
which  New  Jersey  was  occupied  by  the  Indians. 

A  feature  of  the  creek  shore,  not  only  at  the  bridge 
but  for  some  little  distance  above  and  below,  was  the 
abundance  of  plum-trees.  Campanius,  in  describing  the 
various  fruits  and  nuts  found  on  the  Jersey  shore  of  the 
river,  mentions  "great  quantities  of  walnuts,  chestnuts, 
peaches,  damsons^  cypresses,  mulberry,  fish -trees,  and 
many  other  rare  trees  .  .  .  not  found  anywhere  else  but 
on  this  river ;"  and  again,  writing  of  the  opposite  shore 
of  the  Delaware,  says,  near  "■  Plum  Point  there  grow 
great  numbers  of  beech,  plum,  mulberry,  and  chestnut 
trees." 

Plommons  Udden,  or  Plum  Point,  was  a  common  name 
with  the  Swedes,  they  giving  every  bold  river  shore 
such  designation  if  it  grew  a  cluster  of  these  trees. 
Where  the  bridge  now  stands  v\'as  not  long  since  a  Plum 
Point,  and  from  a  careful  examination  of  the  surround- 
ings I  am  disposed  to  think  that  plum  orcliards  were 
commonly  planted  by  the  Indians.  It  is  certain  that 
they  had  other  orcliards,  and  therefore  it  is  reasonable  to 
suppose  that  tlie  clusters  of  plum-trees  were  likewise  the 
work  of  this  people. 

With  so  much  palatable  wild  fruit,  it  is  strange  that 
such  miserable  food  as  the  wild-bean  and  golden-club 
should  have  been  ever  used.     All  of  our  fruits,  except 


272  AVASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

the  persimmon,  can  be  dried,  and  kept  indefinitely ;  and 
notwithstanding  no  mention  is  made  of  the  practice,  I 
am  inclined  to  believe  that  dried  plums  and  other  fruits 
were  used,  as  well  as  the  fruit  eaten  in  a  fresh  state. 
Certainly  if  it  is  true  that  plum  orchards  were  designedly 
planted  by  the  Indians,  this  latter  inference  must  be  true. 
While  yet  discussing  the  botanical  features  of  this 
neighborhood,  what,  it  may  be  asked,  is  the  fish-tree? 
Somewhere  not  far  away,  according  to  Campanius,  there 
grew,  in  his  time,  "  the  fish-tree,  which  resembles  box- 
wood, and  smells  like  raw  fish.  It  cannot  be  split,  but 
if  a  fire  be  lighted  around  it  with  some  other  kind  of 
wood,  it  melts  away."  I  have  tested  on  my  andirons  all 
our  native  trees,  and  there  is  not  one  that  can  be  said 
to  melt  away.  The  persimmon  when  newly  split  has  a 
more  fish-like  smell  than  any  other,  but  then  it  can  be 
split.  It  is  indifferent  firewood,  I  am  sure  ;  so  perhaps 
this  is  the  tree  referred  to. 

But  the  present  bridge :  what  of  it  ?  Like  many  an- 
other rude  structure  far  away  from  the  bustle  of  a  town, 
it  is  the  home  of  a  host  of  creatures,  furred  and  feath- 
ered, for  mice  hide  in  its  roof  and  musk-rats  in  the 
abutment  walls ;  while  under  the  eaves  cliff  swallows 
have  dwelt  for  years,  and  upon  the  rough  frame w^ork 
that  sustains  the  floor  peewees  have  nested  since  the 
bridge  was  built.  I  have  counted  seven  such  nests,  all 
occupied  at  the  same  time,  and  never  a  quarrelsome  word 
between  these  near  neighbors.  In  one  of  the  abutments 
for  years  a  pair  of  Carolina  wrens  have  nested,  and, 
strange  to  say,  without  quarrelling  with  the  swallows. 


THE   DRAWBRIDGE.  273 

tlie  peewees,  or  tlie  marsh-wrens  that  throng  the  wild- 
rice  not  twenty  yards  away.  So  much  for  the  ornithol- 
ogy of  this  quaint  bridge. 

The  entomology  would  require  a  volume  to  exhaust ; 
yet  I  cannot  forbear  brief  mention  of  the  wonderful 
borings  of  the  sturdy  carpenter-bees. 

Belonging  also  to  the  zoology  of  the  bridge  is  the  list 
of  fishes  to  be  taken  from  a  deep  hole  between  the  stone 
pier  and  the  north  bank  of  the  creek.  Here  the  re- 
mains of  the  ancient  drawbridge  make  fishing  somewhat 
difficult,  and  the  eager  anglers  hurry  by  to  the  wide 
reaches  of  deep  waters  farther  down  the  stream.  In 
this  deep  hole  beneath  the  bridge  have  been  caught  the 
largest  specimens  of  rockfish,  catfish,  and  perch  ever 
taken  in  the  creek.  So  at  least  I  have  been  told  by 
one  born  near  by,  and  who  for  years  was  familiar  with 
the  stream  and  those  who  fished  in  it.  Of  course  it  will 
not  do  to  indulge  in  fish  stories,  and  yet,  in  the  interest 
of  ichthyology,  I  am  tempted  to  give  some  figures  of 
weight  and  measurement  —  am  tempted,  but  will  not 
yield.  Let  this  intimation,  however,  stand  for  an  assur- 
ance that  the  largest  catfish,  sunfish,  and  other  kinds 
have  not  yet  been  recorded.  If  museums  were  consid- 
ered more  and  kitchens  less,  our  knowledge  of  fishes 
would  be  considerably  advanced.  Many  and  many  a 
valuable  specimen  has  gone  to  the  frying-pan  that  should 
have  filled  a  jar  on  the  museum  shelf. 

This,  in  brief,  shows  how  much  natural  history  may 
linger  about  an  old  country  bridge.  Let  us  now  return 
to  the  birds  that  frequent  it  and  study  the  cliff  swallows 
nesting  under  the  eaves. 


12 


* 


274  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

As  summer  swallows  darting  tlirougli  the  air,  or  liglit- 
Ij  skimming  tlie  rippling  surface  of  tlie  sparkling  waters, 
this  pretty  species  presents  no  peculiarity  not  common 
to  the  tribe.  It  is  its  nesting  habits  alone  that  make 
the  bird  so  very  interesting.  Dr.  Brewer  states  that 
"  the  nests  of  this  swallow,  when  built  on  the  side  of  a 
cliff  or  in  any  exposed  position,  are  constructed  in  the 
shape  of  a  retort  .  .  .  since  they  have  sought  the  shelter 
of  man  and  built  under  the  eaves  of  barns  and  houses, 
the  old  style  of  their  nests  has  been  greatly  changed, 
and  the  retort-like  shape  has  nearly  disappeared." 

Early  or  late  in  April,  for  very  much  depends  upon 
rain-storms,  sure  to  occur  during  this  uncertain  month, 
the  cliff  swallows  return.  E'ot  a  few  at  a  time,  and  day 
by  day  the  colony  increasing  in  numbers,  but  promptly, 
unitedly.  Yesterday  the  bridge  was  silent  as  a  tomb ; 
to-day  it  fairly  trembles  with  the  excited  chattering  of 
their  united  voices. 

A  word  concerning  early  swallows.  It  has  caused 
much  hasty  comment  to  speak  of  swallows  appearing  in 
New  Jersey  as  early  as  March.  Is  a  March  swallow 
such  a  vara  avis  f  Turnbull  says  of  the  sand-martin  : 
"  Kot  uncommon  on  the  high  bank  of  a  river  or  the  sea- 
shore, arriving  early  in  March,  and  leaving  about  the 
middle  of  October." 

And  of  the  white-bellied  swallow  the  same  excellent 
authority  remarks  :  "  Rather  plentiful.  Comes  late  in 
March,  and  leaves  early  in  September." 

Unlike  the  warblers  or  finches,  there  is  no  possibility 
of  mistaking  swallows  for  other  birds ;  nor  need  they 
be  slaughtered  to  be  identified.     Any  country  school- 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  275 

boy  can  tell  one  when  lie  sees  it ;  and  when  I  say  tliat  I 
have  seen  them  in  March,  year  after  year,  I  mean  this 
and  nothing  more. 

Perhaps  the  common  saying,  "  one  swallow  does  not 
make  a  summer,"  referred  originally  to  tliose  pioneer 
birds  that  come  in  advance  of  the  main  fliirht,  and  are 
often  driven  away,  and  sometimes  killed,  by  severe 
storms  that  follow  their  arrival.  But  this  subject  need 
not  be  pursued  further.  March  swallows  were  known 
to  TurnbuU,  and  I  have  seen  them.  I  regret  man  lias 
yet  no  means  of  informing  them  that  to  visit  Kew  Jer- 
sey in  March,  and  to  tarry  until  ^J'ovember,  is  to  trans- 
gress the  laws  of  official  ornithology. 

To  return  to  the  pretty  cliff  swallows:  their  nests, 
now  no  longer  retort-shape,  but  each  a  semi-globular  cup 
of  clay,  are  always  on  the  south  side  of  the  barn  or  bridge; 
or,  if  this  is  not  available,  a  south-eastern  exposure 
will  be  accepted,  provided  the  surroundings  afford  some 
shelter  from  wind  and  rain.  While  our  swallows  are 
somewhat  sensitive  to  cold,  none  so  promptly  yield  to  a 
"  cold  snap  "  as  do  these  cliff-dwellers,  or  "  rocky  moun- 
tain "  swallows,  as  they  are  usually  called  in  this  neigh- 
borhood. It  is  for  this  reason,  I  think,  they  so  often  for- 
sake, suddenly  and  i^ermanently,  a  locality  like  a  bridge 
or  any  outbuilding.  If  a  violent  storm  arises  and  they 
are  not  sufficiently  sheltered,  they  will  promptly  leave, 
even  when  they  have  young  in  their  nests.  I  have  known 
this  to  happen  twice,  besides  the  instance  to  bo  men- 
tioned with  reference  to  the  drawbridge.  In  the  latter 
case,  a  violent  storm  with  wind,  on  July  3, 1860,  so  dis- 
turbed the  colony  of  swallows,  which  had  been  here  every 


276  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

summer  since  1850,  that  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth 
not  a  bird  was  to  be  seen,  nor  have  others  since  then 
made  their  appearance.  In  this  case  there  were  young 
in  about  one-half  of  the  row  of  forty-seven  nests. 

This  colony,  which  occupied  the  eaves  of  the  draw- 
bridge for  eighteen  years,  did  not  increase  in  size.  I  was 
informed  by  one  who  had  w\atched  them  yearly,  that  the 
first  summer  as  many  nests  were  built  as  were  forsaken 
in  1869.  I  know  from  personal  observation  that  for 
seven  summers  tlie  number  of  nests  remained  the  same. 
This  may  arise  from  the  fact  that  any  structure  like  a 
bridge  or  barn  would  afford  but  a  limited  amount  of 
space  available  for  nest-building ;  yet  in  the  case  of  the 
former,  to  my  eyes,  there  was  room  for  several  times  as 
many  as  the  birds  erected. 

There  was  no  courtship  among  these  birds  after  their 
arrival  from  the  south;  no  waste  of  time  in  idle  com- 
pliment ;  nothing  analogous  to  human  small  talk.  The 
long  row  of  nests  was  before  them,  and  every  one 
needed  some  repairs.  About  this  they  held  no  consul- 
tation, but  straightway  commenced  the  work.  There 
was  not  an  idle  bird  among  them ;  and  strange  to  say, 
there  appeared  to  be  no  special  ownership  of  the  nests, 
at  least  when  they  were  being  repaired.  Every  bird 
did  whatsoever  he  found  to  do,  be  it  on  this,  that,  or  the 
other  nest.  A  week  later  there  was  a  more  methodical 
manner  observable,  and  each  Jill  may  have  had  her 
Jack,  but  the  appearances  were  otherwise.  I  thought 
at  times  that  the  male  birds  were  considerably  in  excess, 
and  that  here  was  a  case  of  polyandry,  but  I  may  be  mis- 
taken. 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  277 

My  attention  was  called  by  an  old  observer  to  the 
fact  that,  in  clear  weather,  these  swallows  never  alighted 
upon  the  roof  of  the  bridge ;  but  when  there  was  a  gen- 
tle rain,  without  wind,  they  would  line  the  peak  of  the 
roof  facing  the  storm,  and  chatter  incessantly.  They 
seemed  to  enjoy  this  method  of  bathing  more  than  by 
dipping  into  the  w\ater  always  beneath  them.  Later,  I 
found  that  this  did  not  hold  good  of  a  colony  of  these 
swallows  nesting  against  a  barn.  These  birds  appeared 
never  to  alight  upon  the  roof,  and  when  it  rained  clung 
to  the  outsides  of  the  nests,  or  flew  about  as  usual,  un- 
less the  storm  was  violent. 

Speaking  of  swallows  recalls  the  fact  that  the  pur- 
ple martins,  princes  of  their  race,  have  within  the  past 
quarter  of  a  century  become  less  and  less  abundant  in 
this  neighborhood.  This  has  not  arisen  in  consequence 
of  the  removal  of  the  boxes  erected  for  their  accommo- 
dation. They  were  abandoned  gradually,  here  and  there 
a  colony,  until  not  a  twentieth  part  of  tliose  here  twenty- 
five  years  ago  remain.  Yery  many  of  the  old  boxes  are 
still  standing,  and  usually  are  tenanted  by  the  pestifer- 
ous foreign  sparrow. 

Many  causes  have  been  assigned  for  the  withdrawal 
of  the  martins,  mostly  quite  untenable  ones,  and  even 
that  one  which  is  most  plausible  not  holding  good.  It 
has  been  supposed  that  the  annual  cold  storm  in  May 
proved  fatal  to  many ;  and  again,  by  lessening  for  the 
time  beins:  the  amount  of  active  insect  life,  the  surviv- 
ors  became  utterly  discouraged.  But  cold  storms  in 
May  were  as  frequent  in  the  last  century  as  in  this.  Dr. 
Benjamin  Smith  Barton,  whom   I  have  so  frequently 


278  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

quoted,  writing  of  this  bird  in  1798, remarks,  "I  have  ob- 
served that  several  weeks  after  the  first  appearance  of  the 
swallows  in  the  spring,  the  coming  on  of  a  cold  day  has 
occasioned  in  them  great  distress.  The  following  fact 
will  strikingly  illustrate  what  I  am  saying.  The  begin- 
ning of  the  month  of  April,  1773,  was  unusually  warm. 
In  the  vicinity  of  PhiladeljDhia  the  clover  in  some  of 
the  fields  was  five  or  six  inches  his^h.  The  martins 
(Ilirundo  purjnirea)  were  seen  about  the  city:  at  this 
time  there  came  on  suddenly  a  very  severe  spell  of  cold 
weather.  It  destroyed  many  of  these  birds,  several  of 
which  were  seen  to  drop  down,  benumbed  or  dead, 
among  the  clover." 

This  clearly  shows  that  no  peculiarity  of  our  climate 
has  caused  these  birds  to  remain  away  from  their  old- 
time  haunts.  The  reason  is  not  known,  and  probably 
unascertainable.  It  is  to  be  classed  with  the  changes  of 
habits  of  many  other  species,  as  the  Carolina  parrot, 
mocking-bird,  summer  redbird,  and  sand-hill  crane.  Once 
they  were  prominent  features  of  our  avi-fauna ;  now  they 
are  so  no  longer. 

My  grandfather  told  me,  many  years  ago,  of  the  sud- 
den appearance  here  of  a  colony  of  martins.  In  April, 
1794,  a  pair  of  sparrow-hawks  nested  in  a  hollow  in  the 
trunk  of  a  tall  tulip-tree,  and  remained  with  their  young 
in  and  about  the  spot  until  the  following  autumn. 
Early  in  April,  1795,  a  large  number  of  martins  made 
their  appearance,  and  finding  no  more  suitable  locality 
took  possession  of  the  tulip-tree.  Immediately  after,  a 
pair  of  sparrow-hawks  came  upon  the  scene,  and  at  once 
disputed  the  right  of  the  swallows  to  it.     Had  there 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  279 

been  but  a  pair  of  each,  tlie  contest  would  have  ])een  of 
short  duration,  so  unequally  matched  are  hawks  and 
martins ;  but  this  was  a  case  of  twenty  or  more  to  two ; 
and  the  battle,  Avhicli  was  bloody,  ended  in  victory  for 
the  smaller  birds,  the  sparrow-hawks  being  driven  off. 

The  liollow  tree  was  occupied  all  that  summer  by  the 
swallows,  and  many  young  birds  were  reared,  but  they 
did  not  return  to  it  the  following  spring.  In  1797  a 
box  was  placed  upon  a  pole  for  their  accommodation  at 
the  cross-roads,  a  short  distance  off,  and  not  a  summer 
passed  that  it  w\as  not  occupied,  until  ISttO,  when  the 
martins  failed  to  ap^^ear,  and  none  have  been  seen  since 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood. 

It  would  be  strange,  indeed,  to  find  even  a  country 
bridge  an  aviary,  and  yet  we  have  seen  already  that  this 
one  has  an  instructive  ornithological  history.  The  w^rens 
and  peewees  have  already  been  mentioned,  but  one  bird- 
feature  of  the  structure  remains  to  be  noted.  For  years 
a  pair  of  barn-swallows  have  found  a  convenient  nook 
beneath  the  roof,  and  have  never  yet  been  disturbed  by 
prowling  urchins  bent  upon  destruction.  These  barn 
swallows,  the  most  beautiful  and  graceful  of  the  fam- 
ily, were  never  disturbed  by  the  eave-dwellers,  although 
always  associated  during  the  day.  I  had  abundant  op- 
portunity to  compare  their  flight  with  that  of  the  oth- 
ers, and  found  it  to  be  more  rapid  and  artistic.  They 
could  curve,  dive,  mount  upward,  reverse  their  flight, 
and  fantastically  tumble  in  mid-air,  with  greater  pre- 
cision and  command  of  wing  than  the  eave-dwellers, 
and  certainly  were  less  often  at  rest.  Dr.  Barton  states 
that  the  Mohegan  Indians  call  the  martin  "pons-pau- 


280  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

cloo-moose :  the  "bird  that  never  rests."  The  name  is 
much  more  applicable  to  the  barn  swallow.  While  rest- 
ing one  siuiny  afternoon  in  the  shadow  of  the  bridge, 
my  attention  was  called  to  these  birds,  and  I  noticed 
that  they  dipped  into  the  water  very  frequently,  and 
always  at  one  spot,  where  the  wild  -  rice  grew  closely 
to  the  edge  of  the  channel.  Believing  that  they  were 
in  search  of  food,  I  concealed  myself  in  the  rice  and 
watched  the  birds  as  well  as  circumstances  would  allow. 
Their  movements  were  too  quick  to  enable  one  to  be 
positive,  but  I  think  they  ^^artly  dived  rather  than  mere- 
ly dipped,  and  caught  each  time  a  very  small  fish ;  for 
at  this  place  there  were  literally  thousands  of  minute 
minnows  crowding  a  limited  space,  and  so  near  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  as  to  faintly  ripple  it. 

The  impenetrable  tangle  of  blackberry  briers,  dwarfed 
trees,  wild-rose,  and  smilax  that  covers  much  of  the  bank 
on  the  creek's  north  shore  below  the  bridge  is  a  favorite 
locality  for  winter  sparrows,  and  so  too  of  shrikes.  Were 
the  latter  more  abundantly  represented  a  century  ago 
than  now  ?  In  an  interesting  letter  from  the  Moravian 
missionary  Heckewelder  to  Dr.  Barton,  dated  December 
18, 1795,  I  find  the  following :  "  I  went  to  a  farm  .  .  . 
to  visit  a  young  orchard  .  .  .  where  on  viewing  the 
trees  I  found,  to  my  great  astonishment,  almost  on  every 
one  of  them  one,  and  on  some  two  and  three  grasshop- 
pers, stuck  down  on  the  sharp  thorny  branches,  which 
were  not  pruned  when  the  trees  were  planted.  I  .  .  . 
was  informed  that  these  grasshoppers  were  stuck  up  by 
a  small  bird  of  prey  which  the  Germans  called  Nexin- 
toedter  .  .  .  that  this  bird  had  a  practice  of  catching 


TOE  DRAWBRIDGE.  281 

and  sticking  np  nine  grasshoppers  a  day,  and  that,  as  he 
well  knew  they  did  not  devour  the  grasshopper  nor  any 
other  insects,  he  thought  they  must  do  it  for  pleasure." 

This  quotation  is  suggestive  in  more  ways  than  one. 
Certainly  no  such  abundant  evidences  of  the  shrikes  are 
now  to  be  met  with,  and  Mr.  Ileckewelder's  experience 
in  the  orchard  implies  that  they  were  very  abundant 
about  Bethlehem  (in  eastern  Pennsylvania)  when  he 
wrote,  for  no  one  bird  would  have  visited  every  tree  in 
a  comparatively  small  enclosure.  Again,  our  northern 
shrike  is  not  here  now,  nor  is  it  about  Bethlehem,  moun- 
tainous region  as  it  is,  when  large  grasshoppers  are  abun- 
dant. The  latter  have  generally  disappeared  prior  to 
the  arrival  of  the  shrikes,  nine-killers,  or  butcher-birds, 
as  they  are  variously  called. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  mention  of  grasshoppers  as  the 
prey  of,  if  not  food  of,  the  shrikes,  suggests  the  southern 
species,  which  may  have  been  as  constant  a  summer  vis- 
itor as  the  other  is  during  winter,  and  even  more  abun- 
dant. If  so,  a  change  took  place  about  the  time  that 
Ileckewelder  wrote — ninety  years  ago — in  its  habits,  and 
it  ceased  to  come  north,  as  we  have  seen  other  migrants 
have  ceased  to  do  since  then.  Very  recently,  however, 
they  have  returned,  and  in  the  interests  of  the  anti-Eng- 
lish sparrow  clubs,  let  us  hope  their  numbers  will  stead- 
ily increase. 

This  August  afternoon  was  peculiarly  quiet.  The 
hum  of  many  insects  was  to  be  heard  only  by  careful 
listening,  so  subdued  was  every  sound.  Scarcely  a  bird 
chirped,  and  few  were  to  be  seen.   It  may  seem  a  rather 


282  WASTE-LAND  WAXDERINGS. 

startling  assertion,  but  an  August  day  in  the  bird- world 
is  more  apt  to  be  silent  than  a  day  in  January.  "With 
the  wind  blowing  at  the  rate  of  thirty  miles  an  hour,  the 
air  thick  with  falling  flakes  of  snow,  and  the  temper- 
ature 20°  Fahr.  or  less,  one  is,  perhaps  naturally,  dis- 
posed to  stay  in-doors,  and  to  take  it  for  granted  that 
the  entire  bird-world  is  of  a  like  way  of  thinking ;  but 
herein  mankind  sadly  errs ;  for  even  during  such  days, 
both  in  the  woods  and  fields,  there  are  birds  and  birds. 
As  a  proof  of  this,  one  need  only  mention  crows  and 
snow-birds  ;  but  I  am  not  speaking  ironically,  but  sober- 
ly, discreetly,  cautiously,  when  I  say  that  our  woods,  at 
least  in  midwinter,  often  contain  as  many  species,  usu- 
ally even  more  individuals,  than  in  midsummer,  and  al- 
most equal  the  early  spring  when  the  northward  troop- 
ing warblers  throng  every  nook  and  corner,  even  to  the 
very  outskirts  of  the  town.  The  merit  of  the  pudding 
is  the  presence  of  the  plums,  and  winter  is  by  no  means 
a  fruitless  batter  if  there  be  birds  among  the  boughs. 

Early  in  the  winter  there  is  pretty  sure  to  come  rain 
after  rain,  and  often  snow  upon  snow  ;  and  if  succeeding 
these  we  have  a  wide-reaching  rain-storm,  the  snows  are 
melted,  the  river  swollen,  and  a  freshet  results.  The 
gently  sloping  banks  of  the  creek  here  at  the  bridge  of- 
fer no  barrier  to  the  encroaching  waters,  and  the  narrow 
stream  becomes  for  a  time  a  noble  river  in  every  feat- 
ure except  depth. 

A  freshet,  whether  it  happens  in  summer  or  winter, 
is  a  thoroughly  enjoyable  and  instructive  occurrence; 
but  is  peculiarly  attractive  in  winter  if  followed  by 
freezing  weather.     I  can  recall  several  such  during  the 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  283 

past  decade,  when  firm  ice  offered  a  safe  footliold  over 
every  rod  of  tlie  treaclierous  marslies.  Tangled  nooks 
in  the  boggy  meadows,  familiar  only  to  the  heron  and 
wary  mallard,  are  now  open  to  all  comers,  and  we  can 
boldly  explore  where  before  we  liave  not  ventured  to 
approach.  Bat  it  is  not  of  these  in  all  their  varied  as- 
pects that  I  have  now  to  speak.  Beyond  the  flooded 
meadows,  now  a  field  of  ice,  along  the  steep  north  bank 
are  sheltered  crannies,  where  there  is  sure  to  be  found 
abundant  warmth,  light,  color,  and  music.  Even  if 
there  be  no  birds  within  sight  or  hearing  it  is  all  the 
same,  scattered  everywhere  are  half  acres  of  emerald  set 
in  miles  of  crystal. 

The  background  of  glistening  snow,  flecked  only  by 
faint  shadows,  gives  cheerful  prominence  to  the  leafless 
branches  of  w^inter-berry,  crowded  to  the  tips  of  tlieir 
tiniest  twigs  with  brilliant  scarlet  fruit.  The  dark,  taper- 
ing spires  of  the  cedar  are  as  green  and  gloomy  as  in 
June.  The  varied  lichens  still  clothe  many  a  tree-trunk 
with  a  motley  gray-green  garb.  The  intricate  maze  of 
the  smilax  is  as  fresh  as  when  its  s]3ring-time  growth 
first  twined  and  twisted  upon  itself  until  both  begin- 
ning and  end  were  irrecoverably  lost.  The  white-oaks 
still  flutter  and  rattle  their  dusty  golden  leaves  in  every 
passing  breeze.  Beneath  the  sheltering  branches  of  tall- 
er growths  trim  sassafras  sprouts  still  keep  their  dark- 
green,  lengthy,  leathery  leaves,  as  rich  in  color  and  in 
freshness  as  ferns  at  the  flood-tide  of  summer  sunshine. 
Surely  there  is  no  lack  of  color. 

The  ice,  fashioned  fantastically  by  the  deft  fingers  of 
Frost,  yields  to  the  searching  rays  of  the  noontide  sun, 


284  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

and  is  now  dripping  from  tlie  moss,  the  dead  grass,  and 
overhanging  banks  of  frozen  earth,  and  every  drop  tin- 
kles with  bell-like  music  as  it  strikes  the  pebbles  beneath, 
and  its  shattered  glories  are  lost  in  the  rippling  brook. 
This,  w^itli  the  rustling  of  crisp  leaves  and  sighing  of  the 
wind,  will  it  not  suffice  for  music  ? 

Add  to  these  the  birds,  and  we  have  the  jubilee.  I 
have  been  present  at  scores  of  them  in  a  single  winter. 
Omitting  all  reference  to  hawks  and  owls,  although  these 
are  very  far  from  being  devoid  of  interest,  let  me  recall, 
while  I  sit  in  the  shadow  of  the  bridge,  those  birds  that 
I  have  seen  here  and  hereabouts  every  winter  since  I 
systematically  rambled  in  search  of  them. 

There  are  robins,  of  course.  jSTot  a  j)oor  straggler 
now  and  tlien  in  search  of  its  fellows,  but  hale,  hearty 
birds,  full  of  song  even,  and  never  disheartened  because 
the  frozen  sod  no  longer  yields  them  an  abundance  of 
earthworms.  The  berries  of  the  cedar,  and  what  they 
left  in  the  autumn  of  the  gumberries,  afford  them  suffi- 
cient food,  and  so  no  cause  to  complain  have  they. 

Kestless,  rambling,  rollicking  bluebirds.  Be  it  clear 
or  cloudy,  they  come  and  go  with  as  much  uncertainty 
as  the  weather.  To-day  a  hundred  perch  upon  the  stakes 
of  worm-fences,  warbling  their  May-day  songs,  and  chas- 
ing imaginary  insects  in  the  clear  cold  air — to-morrow 
not  one  is  to  be  seen.  Xor  have  they  merely  hidden 
in  some  secluded  corner.  They  have  taken  a  fairly  long 
journey,  and  will  return,  not  in  accordance  with  the 
weather,  waiting  for  a  mild  day,  but  always  following 
the  whim  of  the  moment,  instead  of,  like  so  many  birds, 
the  dictation  of  Jack  Frost. 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  285 

Tlicn  there  are  the  two  kinglets,  wren-like  in  all  their 
ways ;  wee  bits  of  impatience,  wrapped  in  light-brown 
feathers.  They  climb  and  twitter  among  the  tall  trees, 
and  at  times  dip  down  to  the  very  ground  to  snap  their 
little  beaks  in  the  cat's-ears  ;  then,  clutching  a  twig,  will 
sometimes  warble  a  bar  or  two  of  some  half-forgotten 
summer  song  before  mounting  to  the  tall  tree's  very 
top  and  launching  into  dreary  space,  regardless  alike  of 
wind  or  rain,  of  sleet  or  snow. 

Two  titmice — cheerful  birds  the  world  would  sadly 
miss ;  the  lordly  tomtit,  with  his  jaunty  crest ;  the  merry 
chickadee — the  former  making  the  Avoods  ring  with  his 
earnest  invitation  to  ramble  therein  :  here — here — here  ! 
the  latter  ever  winsome  as  it  chirps,  in  more  subdued 
tones,  chiclc-a-dee-dee — dee-dee;  icinter  no  terror  has  for 
me— for  me. 

Titmice  will  never  allow  you  to  be  lonely  if  you  walk 
in  the  woods.  They  are  honestly  pleased  with  your 
presence,  and  mean  every  chirp  and  twitter  as  a  hearty 
welcome.  They  will  follow  you  at  times,  and  when 
they  flit  from  bush  to  bush  it  is  not  to  avoid  you,  but 
lead  you  on — guide  you  to  the  pleasant  places,  to  the 
tallest  trees,  the  warmest,  cosiest  corners.  Evolution 
did  itself  honor  in  producing  such  a  bird. 

And  we  have  two  nuthatches — marked  features  of  a 
winter  day.  They  are  near  cousins,  creatures  of  like 
tastes,  and,  happily,  never  at  loggerheads.  One  has  a 
niddy  waistband — if  a  bird  has  a  waist — the  other  is 
clad  beneath  in  white;  by  this  you  may  know  them. 
All  day  long,  and  even  far  into  the  moonlight  night, 
these  birds  clatter  over  the  crisp,  frost-nipped  bark  of 


286  WASTE-LAND   AVANDERIXGS. 

the  forest-trees,  uttering,  witli  scarcely  a  trace  of  varia- 
tion in  their  tones,  qioauTc-quanh — tat-a-tat.  In  every 
phase  of  winter  it  is  all  the  same  with  them ;  the  mer- 
cury may  creep  to  zero,  they  will  only  creep  a  little 
faster ;  and  going  the  rounds  of  the  door-yard  trees  they 
never  stop  to  ask  if  it  is  tiresome,  but  greet  you,  as 
they  did  the  first  man  who  wintered  in  America,  with  a 
strongly  nasal  qxianlc-qxian'k — tat-a-tat^  all  of  which  no 
ornithologist  has  as  yet  been  able  to  interpret. 

We  have  also  the  very  pretty  brown  tree-creeper — 
curious  grub -hunter  of  two  continents.  He  chatters 
alike  to  European  and  American ;  and  although  famil- 
iar with  so  much  of  the  world,  is  positively  happy  away 
off  here  in  the  benighted  region  of  central  I^ew  Jersey. 
Like  the  kinglets,  the  creeper  will  pause  in  his  wild 
career  and  sing  exquisitely ;  not  at  the  close  of  winter, 
or  in  deceptive,  spring-like  days,  merelj^,  but  in  Janu- 
ary, with  its  ice  and  snow,  north  winds  and  arctic  cold. 
These  but  stir  him  to  action,  and  I  have  often  heard  his 
cheering  song  during  such  bitter  days  that  even  the  tit- 
mice clung  to  the  sunny  sides  of  the  oaks. 

Of  the  Carolina  wren  I  must  speak  with  caution.  He 
is  such  a  favorite  I  fear  I  may  exaggerate  his  merits. 
This  splendid  bird  is  not  so  ready,  as  a  creeper,  to  face 
a  cutting  north  wind,  yet  is  never  a  coward.  Only  give 
him  a  ghost  of  a  chance  and  he  will  sing  such  songs  in 
January  as  those  wath  which  his  summer  cousin,  the 
house- wren,  charms  the  world  in  June.  Like  others  I. 
have  mentioned,  his  spirits  often  rise  with  the  grow- 
ing violence  of  an  approaching  storm,  and  far  above 
the  wind  whistling  through  the  leafless  branches  of  the 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  287 

wood  could  be  lieard  tlie  Carolina  wren's  clear  call  of 
defiance,  mocking  the  rage  of  an  angry  winter  day. 

And  how  dillerent  the  smaller  winter  wren!  —  shy, 
wood -haunting,  thicket -loving,  silent,  and  so,  to  very 
many,  even  though  they  are  often  abroad,  unseen,  un- 
suspected, quite  unknown.  Ilis  close  acquaintance  is 
well  worth  making,  and  I  can  promise  that  his  many 
pleasant  ways  will  cause  the  rambler  to  forget  the  usual 
drawbacks  of  a  winter  walk.  The  winter  wren  only 
chirps  at  this  season,  it  is  true ;  but  it  is  such  a  hearty, 
ringing  chirp  that  it  may  well  pass  for  a  song ;  accept- 
able, because  it  appears  to  be  uttered  for  your  pleasure 
as  much  as  for  the  bird's.  I  have  said  it  was  a  shy 
bird :  it  is  shy  of  approaching  us  and  our  ordinary  sur- 
roundings ;  but  go  to  its  home  in  the  retired  nooks  and 
corners  of  the  wood,  and  it  will  not  fear  you ;  indeed, 
in  an  hour's  time  it  may  become  quite  familiar. 

Another  winter  bird,  and  one  of  both  great  beauty 
and  accomplishments,  is  the  horned  lark.  You  are  not 
treated  to  a  glimpse  of  one  merely,  nor  a  meagre  dozen, 
but  of  a  hundred.  They  are  never  in  the  woods,  even 
during  violent  storms,  but  out  in  the  open  fields.  Pos- 
sibly you  may  have  to  tramp  knee-deep  to  find  them, 
but  if  you  do,  the  walk  will  never  be  regretted.  I  have 
so  often  mentioned  these  larks  that  I  can  only  name 
them  now. 

But  a  word  concerning  the  pipit.  In  him  we  have  a 
lark,  a  splendid  songster,  and  altogether  a  bird  of  many 
attractions,  even  were  it  mute ;  yet  far  and  near,  both 
in  town  and  country,  my  neighbors  do  not  know  it. 
Pipits  come  in  October,  scattering  about  the  least  fre- 


288  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

qnented  fields,  always  on  the  ground,  or  flitting,  like 
wind-tossed  feathers,  from  j^lace  to  place.  Like  horned 
larks,  they  are  strictly  upland  birds ;  at  least  I  have  nev- 
er seen  a  specimen  on  the  meadoAVS  or  along  the  river 
shore.  This,  however,  is  inapplicable  to  them  when  in 
more  southern  localities. 

When  pij^its  are  carefully  approached  they  will  main- 
tain a  safe  distance  by  running,  and  if  confident  of  your 
innocent  intentions  in  drawing  near,  will  often  entertain 
you  with  a  delightful  song.  It  is  a  clear,  flute-like  war- 
ble, moderately  varied,  and  seldom  are  the  repetitions 
quite  the  same. 

My  experience  makes  them  a  bird  of  our  open  win- 
ters, lovers  of  dead  grass  and  frost-nipped  weeds,  and 
never,  like  horned  larks  or  arctic  buntings,  rejoicing  in 
polar  temperature  and  boundless  reaches  of  untrodden 
snow. 

In  winter,  as  well  as  at  other  times,  we  have  with  us 
cedar-birds  in  abundance — every  one  trim  as  a  dandy, 
neat  as  a  shining  pin.  They  are  too  lazy  or  too  particular 
to  sing,  and  it  is  said,  probably  with  truth,  that  they  die 
of  nervous  shock  if  their  plumage  be  soiled.  They  never 
associate  with  others  than  their  own  kind,  and  under  no 
circumstances  are  they  demonstrative.  I  would  be  glad 
to  become  an  enthusiast  in  their  praises  could  I  learn 
their  merits.  I  fear  they  are  but  feather-deep;  still  I 
am  thankful  that  they  bear  me  out  in  my  assertion  that 
a  birdless  winter  is  a  mere  figment  of  the  imagination. 

Another  feature  of  our  woods  in  winter  is  the  shrike, 
the  foe  of  song-birds,  but  particularly  a  pursuer  of  the 
omnipresent  tree-sparrow.     It  is  a  bird  that  suggests  an 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  289 

essay,  not  a  paragrapli.  Much  as  I  liato  him,  I  liavc 
one  word  in  his  favor.  His  presence  proves  that  otlicr 
birds  abound.  The  slirike  hates  an  uncertainty,  and 
keej^s  a  well -stocked  larder  ever  before  him.  Is  he 
crouching  in  some  tall  tree  ?  The  sparrows  throng  the 
tangled  smilax  at  its  base. 

Although  surly  his  countenance  as  an  angry  hawk, 
yet  at  times  it  lightens  wp  ;  he  sits  up  well  upon  his 
perch,  spreads  his  tail,  and  gives  his  pretty  wings  a 
shake ;  looks  almost  as  gentle  as  a  nesting  thrush,  and 
attemj^ts  a  song.  I  doubt  if  his  mate,  even,  ever  toler- 
ates its  repetition.  A  lamer  effort  at  vocal  music  I  have 
never  heard,  even  among  mankind. 

And  now  we  come  to  a  long  list  of  winter  finches. 
All  the  world  knows  that  in  winter  we  have  snow-birds. 
Some  one  has  sung, 

"Better  far,  all  yes!  than  no  bird 
Is  the  ever-present  snow-bird ; 
Gayly  tripping,  dainty  creature, 
"Where  the  snow  hides  every  feature; 
Covers  fences,  field,  and  tree, 
Clothes  in  white  all  things  but  thee; 
Restless,  twittering,  trusty  snow-bird, 
Lighter  heart  than  thine  has  no  bird." 

But  does  all  the  world  know  as  much  of  our  other  finch- 
es, the  many  sparrows  of  our  "  much  be-sjiarrowed  coun- 
try ?"  If  one  dare  brave  the  north  wind,  there  is  a  pine- 
finch  in  store  for  him  somewhere  among  the  gloomy 
evergreens  ;  and  pine-finches  are  birds  worth  seeing,  even 
with  the  temperature  at  zero.  Purple  finches,  too,  in 
flocks  of  several  dozens,  come  trooping  southward  as  our 

la 


290  WASTE-LAND   WANDERINGS. 

days  grow  short,  and  often  sing  merrily  when  in  Janu- 
ary there  comes  a  royally  bright  day,  filled  with  sweet 
winter  sunshine.  More  ruddy  finches  haunt  the  cedars 
now,  and  two  cross-bills,  near  akin,  and  alike  in  all  their 
habits,  climb  like  parrots,  twitter  like  sparrows,  and  weary 
of  gymnastics,  hurry  out  of  sight,  to  be  gone,  it  may  be, 
until  another  year  rolls  by. 

Early  and  late,  wherever  trees  are  tall  and  weeds  have 
been  left  for  forage  grounds,  the  pretty  linnets  are  sure 
'to  be  found.  If  not  to-day,  to-morrow;  if  not  this 
week,  next.  Like  all  winter  birds,  save  half  a  dozen, 
they  are  delightfully  uncertain.  If  you  see  them  when 
you  walk,  count  it  good -luck;  if  not,  repeat  your  ram- 
bles until  you  have  met  them.  That  lemon-yellow  and 
black  finch  that  fed  in  summer  on  thistle-down,  floated 
up  and  down  as  it  flew,  and  twittered  with  every  undu- 
lation, is  now  in  a  russet  suit,  and  comes  and  goes  in 
flocks  of  a  dozen  or  a  hundred,  as  the  case  may  be.  A 
near  relative,  the  pine -finch,  is  now  here,  also,  and  in 
voice  and  habits  they  are  as  nmcli  alike  as  peas  from 
the  same  pod.  They  chirp  and  twitter  so  earnestly  that 
we  listen  w4th  pleasure,  even  though  they  are  high  over- 
head, and  we  must  bend  our  necks  to  see  them  dotting 
the  naked  branches  of  the  tallest  trees. 

Coming  back  to  the  ground,  if  there  has  been  a  snow, 
one  may  count  upon  the  arctic  buntings.  More  beauti- 
ful birds  it  is  seldom  one's  fortune  to  see ;  and  seen  at 
their  best  are  they  wdien  trooping  over  the  snow,  seed- 
hunting  among  the  upreaching  stems  of  the  tall  weeds. 

With  them,  it  may  be,  will  occur  one  or  more  Laj)land 
long-spurs.     Count  it  a  red-letter  day  if  you  chance  to 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  291 

see  one.  Many  a  flock  of  snow -buntings  lias  one  or 
more  long-spurs,  I  am  sure ;  but  it  is  no  easy  task  to 
single  them  out.  I  well  remember  the  first  and  only 
flock  of  them  I  ever  saw.  It  was  a  wild  March  day,  and 
far  more  wintry  than  had  been  any  of  the  days  in  Feb- 
ruary. I  was  crossing  a  wide  field,  covered  with  a  thin 
and  ragged  sheet  of  snow.  Up  from  the  weeds  they 
rose,  like  frightened  larks,  and  sailing  past  me  but  lit- 
tle .above  my  head,  they  twittered,  one  and  all,  most 
musically. 

I  stood  watching  them  for  several  minutes,  when  they 
returned  and  settled  very  near  their  former  feeding- 
ground.  I  approached  cautiously,  down  upon  all  fours, 
and  got  near  enough  to  see  them  plainly.  There  could 
be  no  mistake,  they  were  long-spurs.  But  I  need  not 
have  been  so  painstaking.  As  I  flushed  them  the  second 
time,  one  of  them  sang  while  on  the  wing.  There  was 
no  mistaking  that ;  no  other  of  our  winter  birds  has  so 
sweet  and  artistic  a  song. 

Not  even  the  hio-hest  and  widest  of  snow-drifts  can 
drive  a  grass-finch  from  his  native  field.  If  needs  be,  it 
will  burrow  under  it,  and  find  many  a  meal  of  grass 
seed  where  other  finches  would  starve.  For  years  they 
puzzled  me,  but  at  last  I  learned  their  secret.  AVhen 
an  unusual  snow-fall  occurs,  the  finches  take  refuge  in 
the  anirles  of  the  old  worm-fences,  and  the  bottom  rail 
is  sure  to  afford  some  shelter  unless  the  drift  forms  here. 
From  this  vantage-ground  the  bird  will  work  beneath 
the  snow  for  several  feet,  and  get  at  seed-bearing  weeds 
that  are  cpiite  hidden  from  birds  flying  over  the  fields. 
Let  some  such  strange  weather  occur  that  every  other 


292  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

bird  would  be  driven  away ;  I  believe  even  then  tlie 
grass-finch  would  not  be  dislodged. 

Again,  from  autumn  to  S2:)ring  we  have  white-throated 
sparrows  that  sing  loudly  if  not  well;  and  rarer  to  a 
degree,  the  even  prettier  white- crowned  finch.  Whether 
in  the  woods  or  fields,  upland  or  meadow,  it  matters  not, 
from  October  to  April  we  are  sure  of  these  splendid 
representatives  of  the  sparrow  tribe. 

And  escape,  if  you  can,  the  myriads  of  tree-sparrows. 
Over  the  snow  they  trip,  as  blithely  as  an  arctic  bunting, 
chirping  pleasing  notes  at  times,  and  ridding  the  winter's 
day  of  every  semblance  of  dreariness.  Not  only  here  in 
treeless  tracts,  but  up  in  the  woods  they  are  alike  abun- 
dant ;  often  in  flocks  of  a  hundred  of  their  owm  kind, 
and  not  less  frequently  associated  with  birds  of  other 
species.  When,  as  at  winter,  one  does  not  expect  elab- 
orate love-songs,  the  united  voices  of  scores  of  tree-spar- 
rows are  very  welcome  to  the  rambler's  ear. 

The  social  chipping  sparrow  does  not  always  forsake 
us  in  winter,  and  the  song -sparrow  braves  our  coldest 
weather.  They  are  now  a  bird  of  the  w^illow  hedges,  in 
the  marshes,  and  of  smilax  along  the  meadow  fences. 
Here  it  is  w^armer  than  about  the  uplands,  and  so,  find- 
ing warmth  and  food  in  abundance,  they  remain  until 
nesting-time  comes  round  again. 

The  fox-colored  sparrow,  largest  and  most  beautiful 
of  them  all,  is  ever  a  feature  of  our  winter  landscape, 
and  once  seen,  he  is  not  likely  to  be  forgotten ;  and  when, 
as  the  winter  closes,  he  sings  among  the  hedge-rows,  he 
is  certain  to  remain  in  the  memory  of  all  who  hear  him. 

With  still  another  finch  the  long  list  closes ;  for  hap- 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  •      293 

py  are  we  in  tlie  presence  of  the  acknowledged  leader 
of  the  winter's  choir,  the  brave  and  brilliant  carduial. 

Bat  let  me  give  my  country  all  her  due  ;  for  there  are 
yet  other  winter  birds.  The  cow-bird,  strange  creature, 
'with  its  gurgling  rattle,  can  in  nowise  be  omitted ;  and 
then  the  tuneful  meadow-lark,  that  hidden  aloft  whistles 
half  a  day,  yet  is  seen  by  no  one.  The  purple  grakle 
comes  and  goes,  ever  hoarse  with  overmuch  chattering, 
and  the  only  one  of  all  I  have  mentioned  meriting  the 
charge  of  being  tiresome.  On  the  other  hand,  those 
equally  noisy  birds  of  the  marshes,  the  red-winged  black- 
birds, are  always  welcome,  the  more  so  when  their  pleas- 
ant notes  come  floating  over  acres  of  dreary,  ice-bound 
meadows. 

Less  musical  than  even  a  jay  is  our  screaming,  harsli- 
tongued  kingfisher,  and  he,  also,  is  no  stranger  in  the 
land,  even  at  Christmas,  and  at  such  a  time  his  coarse 
rattling  accords  fairly  w^ell  with  the  noise  of  chafing,  icy 
branches  stirred  by  the  wintry  winds. 

"Well  the  kingfisher  knows  the  treacherous  spring- 
holes  in  the  meadows  where  frost  fails  in  its  handiwork 
and  hosts  of  minnows  linger  until  "  April  unlocks  the 
icy  rill." 

It  is  ours,  too,  to  boast  of  five  or  six  woodpeckers,  all 
of  which,  while  having  next  to  nothing  to  say,  are  so 
noisy  at  their  work  of  tapping  trees  that  we  hear  them 
often  when  they  elude  our  search. 

Lastly,  in  steps  the  chattering  jay,  quick-witted  cousin 
of  the  cunning  crow,  and  what  he  lacks  in  musical  talent 
he  endeavors  to  compensate  the  rambler  for  in  vigorous 
declamation. 


294  WASTE-LAXD  WANDERINGS. 

Let  me  recapitulate.  An  ordinary  lialf-mile  stroll  be- 
yond tlie  city  limits  may  enable  you  to  see  forty  or  more 
species  of  birds — possibly  fifty.  Fully  one-half  of  them 
will  be  in  flocks.  Many  will  cluster  in  the  thick-set  ce- 
dars ;  others  will  be  scattered  over  the  weedy  fields. 
Hundreds  delight  to  lurk  in  the  angles  of  a  zigzag  fence  ; 
others  come  boldly  to  the  front  and  bid  you  welcome. 

Divide  these  many  winter  birds  in  another  manner, 
and  we  shall  find  that  fully  one-half  may  claim  to  be 
songsters ;  and  better  than  all  else,  none  are  lazy,  moping 
noodles,  as  are  so  many  summer  birds  when  the  noon- 
tide heat  is  tropical,  but,  on  the  contrary,  every  feather 
of  them  is  awake,  alive,  ready  for  fight  or  fun,  and  bub- 
bling over  with  melody  or  loquacity. 

Do  you  really  think,  then,  a  January  jubilee  a  myth  ? 
The  midwinter  morning  I  was  last  here,  the  temperature 
was  as  low  as  ten,  and  never  above  twenty,  degrees — that 
is,  take  the  wliole  range  of  the  fields  and  woods — but 
tlien  scattered  about  were  warmer,  sheltered  nooks,  and 
such  are  the  concert-halls  affected  by  our  winter  song- 
sters. 

One  doesn't  buy  a  ticket  for  the  roof  when  he  goes  to 
the  opera.  Why  look  for  birds,  then,  on  the  north  side 
of  a  hill  ?  I  found  them  yesterday  on  a  sunny  slope,  and 
tarrying  a  bit  I  heard  them. 

The  clear  call  of  the  crested  tit  opened  the  concert. 
The  abundant  tree-sparrows  twittered ;  kinglets  trilled 
a  merry  roundelay ;  snow-birds  chirped  ;  a  cardinal  per- 
f ormedi  an  inimitable  solo ;  and  to  all  the  downy  wood- 
pecker was  alike  attentive,  and  drummed  a  tuneful  ac- 
companiment on  the  most  resonant  tree  in  all  the  woods. 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  295 

Then  an  interlude.  ]^ot  mournful  silence  either,  keep- 
ing one  sadly  shivering  as  the  wind  swept  by,  but  only 
a  brief  waiting  until  a  host  of  linnets  dropped  among 
the  trees  and  sang  a  sweet  hymn  of  thankfulness  that 
such  sunny  nooks  as  tliis  were  vouchsafed  by  kindly 
IS'ature  to  our  winter  birds.  Yet  no  sooner  does  No- 
vember roll  around  than  the  poet's  corner  of  the  coun- 
try weeklies,  and  the  essayists'  pages  of  tlie  pretentious 
journals,  teem  with  regrets  at  the  sad  silence  of  our  woods 
in  winter,  or  gush  with  nonsense  about  dreary  snow-clad 
fields.     Out  upon  such  rot ! 

A  somewhat  strikinc;  feature  of  the  creek  shore  near 
the  bridge  is  the  number  of  large  catalpas,  or  Indian 
bean-trees.  My  neighbors  persist  in  calling  them  "  ca- 
tawbas,"  and  the  boys  say  "  candle-trees."  In  spite  of 
its  short-lived  attraction  when  in  bloom,  it  can  scarcely 
be  considered  a  fine  growth.  Its  large  leaves  are  coarse, 
the  long  seed-pods  suggestive  of  broken  and  withered 
twigs.  It  has  one  peculiarity  worthy  of  mention  :  except 
the  hornbeam,  no  native  tree  is  so  apt  to  have  angular 
branches.  In  one  that  I  can  see  from  the  boat,  every 
branch  is  either  straight  or  bent  at  right  angles.  In  one 
instance  a  long  bough  grows  horizontally  for  some  ten 
feet,  then  extends  directly  earthward  for  nearly  three, 
when  it  turns  inward,  and  grows  horizontally  towards 
the  tree's  trunk.  Nothing  in  the  present  surroundings 
of  the  tree  could  have  intiuenced  this  peculiar  method 
of  growth,  hence  our  constant  wonder  why  it  should  be 
so.  Gray  speaks  of  this  tree  as  a  southern  species,  and 
refers  to  its  introduction  into  the  northern  States.     If 


296  WASTE-LAND  WANDERIXGS. 

introduced  and  not  native  to  JSTew  Jersey,  the  planting 
of  the  first  specimens  must  have  been  long  ago.  I  have 
positive  knowledge  of  two  that  have  shaded  a  little  front 
yard  since  1739 ;  and  is  not  this  tree  referred  to  when,  in 
a  deed  bearing  date  of  1089,  an  "  Indian  bean-tree "  is 
mentioned?  After  the  first  quarter  of  a  century  the 
growth  appears  to  be  very  slow,  and  yet  one  that  I  was 
forced  to  cut  down  some  years  ago  had  one  hundred 
and  twenty-seven  well-defined  rings,  and  measured  two 
feet  one  inch  in  diameter. 

Considering  that  since  earliest  colonial  times  catalpas 
have  been  common,  and  are  now  an  abundant  forest- 
tree,  it  is  probable  that  in  central  New  Jersey  the  tree 
is  native  and  not  introduced.  One  strong  proof  of  this 
is,  I  think,  the  fact  that  about  a  half  mile  from  here 
there  was,  a  century  ago,  a  half-acre  grove  of  very  large 
catalpas.  Their  value  as  fence-posts  was  then  known, 
and  they  were  felled  for  that  purpose.  Many  of  the 
posts  lasted  sixty  years,  and  one  large  gate-post  was  not 
w^iolly  decayed  when  removed  twenty  years  later.  This 
is  a  better  record  as  fencing  material  than  that  of  the 
yellow  locust. 

As  I  was  looking  towards  the  crooked  catalpa  this  af- 
ternoon, I  saw  issuing  from  it  a  blue- jay,  chased  by  a 
score  of  smaller  birds  which  it  had  doubtless  been  an- 
noying. Jays  are  never  happy  except  when  in  mis- 
chief, but  as  there  are  no  birds' -nests  now  to  rob,  I  can- 
not imagine  his  offence. 

Under  date  of  August  25th,  Dr.  Benjamin  Smith  Bar- 
ton makes  this  curious  entry  in  his  field  notes :  "  About 
this  time  the  Corvus  cristatus,  called  Blue-j ay,  having 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  297 

reared  its  young,  appears  in  great  numbers,  waiting  for 
the  nuts  of  the  Beech,  Chinkapin,  and  Chestnut  to  feed 
upon  when  ripe,  and  to  store  them  ujy  in  its  lolnter  qiiar- 
tersP  Who  of  Late  years  has  seen  a  jay's  magazine  of 
nuts,  carefully  stored  for  winter  use?  I  take  it  this  is 
a  fancy  on  the  part  of  the  author,  or  a  common  impres- 
sion then  rife,  but  none  the  less  erroneous.  These  birds, 
with  all  their  cunning,  are  not  so  provident  as  this  im- 
plies. Could  they  have  been  seen  in  winter,  foraging 
on  the  supplies  laid  up  by  mammals,  and  so  got  the 
credit  of  storing  for  themselves  \  This  is  not  improba- 
ble. 

All  this  while  I  have  been  sitting  in  the  boat,  and 
quite  unmindful  of  the  world  beneath  me ;  but  a  loud 
splashing  recalled  the  fact  that  the  waters  teemed  with 
life,  and  lookins;  in  the  direction  of  the  noise,  I  saw  a 
great  number  of  small  fishes  rippling  the  water  from 
shore  to  shore.  It  was  a  brood  or  hatching  of  young 
shad,  wandering  here  to  their  certain  destruction  rather 
than  making  a  seaward  course  down  the  river.  Every 
perch  and  rockfish  was  aware  of  their  presence,  and  on 
the  alert  to  snap  them  up.  They  soon  passed  by,  bound 
up  the  creek,  and  the  waters  were  again  undisturbed. 
Looking  down  into  the  stream  near  the  pier,  I  could  see 
small  sunfish  darting  at,  to  me,  unseen  objects  directly 
in  front  of  them ;  and  when  I  moved,  they  quickly  dart- 
ed into  crevices  among  the  large  stones  of  the  pier. 
Their  vision  serves  them  well,  so  far  as  seeing  enemies, 
supposed  or  real,  above  the  water.  How  fishes  with 
eyes  placed  on  the  sides  of  their  heads  can  see  directly 


298  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

in  front  of  them  probably  lias  puzzled  a  good  many 
people.  A  recent  exj^lanation,  which  does  not,  howev- 
er, differ  from  that  of  the  older  ichthyologists,  but  is 
couched  in  simple,  non-technical  terms,  runs  as  follows : 

"  If  a  line  extending  through  the  centre  of  the  pupil 
to  the  centre  of  the  retina  were  the  actual  axis  of  vision, 
then  such  lateral-eyed  fishes  as  the  freshwater  sunfishes 
would  have  separate  fields  of  vision  ;  but  I  am  convinced 
that  the  true  axis  extends  through  the  anterior  margin 
of  the  ovate  pupil  to  the  posterior  side  of  the  retina. 
The  spot  of  most  distinct  vision  is  this  posterior  portion 
of  the  retina,  and  on  this  spot  the  images  formed  in  both 
eyes  coincide. 

"  When  the  fish  is  quietly  swimming  in  the  water,  this 
true  axis  is  directed  horizontally  forward.  This  is  true 
whether  the  fish  has  its  body  horizontal  or  not.  The 
movement  of  the  eyeball,  to  retain  a  horizontal  direc- 
tion of  the  true  visual  line,  is  a  rotating  one  on  the  ap- 
parent optical  axis ;  the  rotation  of  the  ball  is  not  very 
noticeable,  except  in  those  fishes  that  have  a  dark  band 
across  the  eye.  One  of  those  best  marked  for  this  pur- 
pose is  the  black-banded  sunfish.  There  are  quite  a  num- 
ber of  species  marked  with  distinctness  enough  to  show 
the  rotation  well,  and  the  movement  is  an  interesting 
one  to  watch.  When  the  body  of  the  fish  is  almost  per- 
pendicular, the  eye  retains  its  natural  horizontal  direc- 
tion ;  this  is  true  whether  the  fish  is  swimming  oblique- 
ly upward  or  downward. 

"  The  medium  in  which  fresh-water  fishes  live  gives 
them  a  chance  to  see  a  great  distance  only  in  the  hori- 
zontal direction,  and  the  proper  adjustment  of  the  eye 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  299 

would  mate,  under  usual  conditions,  the  optical  axis  take 
this  direction.  To  me  it  seems  impossible  to  exphiin  the 
constant  revolution  of  the  eyeball  on  any  otlier  hypoth- 
esis except  that  given,  viz.,  that  the  optical  axis  extends 
forward  instead  of  sidewise. 

"  When  a  fish  wishes  to  eat  anything,  either  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  pond  or  at  the  surface  of  the  water,  it  swims 
directly  towards  the  object ;  and  in  this  case  the  eyes  are 
instantly  adjusted  in  line  with  the  body,  so  as  to  bring 
the  image  of  the  particle  desired  upon  the  posterior  por- 
tion of  the  retina.  In  this  case  they  lose  their  usual 
liorizontal  position. 

"If  a  fish  wishes  to  turn  to  the  right  or  left  in  the  wa- 
ter, the  first  movement  is  that  of  the  eyes  in  unison  with 
the  direction  of  the  turning.  This  would  be  entirely 
unnecessary  if  the  apparent  axis  was  the  axis  of  most 
distinct  vision,  as  one  of  the  eyes  would  see  all  that  was 
to  be  seen  on  the  side  of  the  turning.  After  this  move- 
ment of  the  eyes  the  body  turns  enough  to  bring  the 
eyes  into  their  normal  position ;  then  there  is  again  a 
movement  of  the  eyes,  and  next  a  movement  of  the 
body.  This  causes  a  peculiar  jerking  motion  of  the  eye- 
balls during  the  whole  time  of  the  turning  of  the  body." 

The  little  sunfish  that  I  had  been  noticing  made  ex- 
cellent use  of  their  wits  as  well  as  eyes,  and  eluded  my 
best-laid  schemes  to  capture  them.  They  knew  perfect- 
ly well  that  when  in  the  crevices  of  the  pier  they  were 
safe,  and  that  safety  was  an  uncertainty  under  any  or- 
dinary circumstances.  I  waited  many  minutes  for  them 
to  reappear,  and  found  that  they  only  purposed  showing 
themselves  after  due  precautions  had  been  taken.    They, 


800  WASTE-LAND  WANDERINGS. 

at  first,  only  peeped  out  and  upward,  and  if  I  made  the 
sliglitest  movement  away  tliey  went.  At  last  I  suc- 
ceeded in  refraining  even  from  a  wink,  and  very  slowly 
they  emerged  from  their  stony  caverns ;  but  even  now 
they  would  not  venture  beyond  a  few  inches  from  the 
pier,  and  watched  for  movements  on  my  part  rather 
than  food.  Tliese  mere  mites  of  fishes,  scarcely  three 
months  old,  had  wise  heads  on  their  shoulders.  How 
the  old  naturalists  could  suppose  a  fish  passed  a  mere 
mechanical  existence  is  indeed  a  puzzle.  Did  they  nev- 
er see  living  fish  ? 

Quantities  of  eels  kept  passing  in  full  view,  all  going 
up  the  creek.  They  were  quite  uniform  in  size,  meas- 
uring perhaps  a  foot  in  length.  I  should  be  glad  to 
know  their  errand,  but  it  is  too  late  in  the  day  to  follow 
them.  Were  they  larger,  and  in  shallower  waters,  prob- 
ably they  might  be  heard.  A  kindly  disposed  critic, 
referring  to  my  essay  on  the  voices  of  fresh-water  fishes, 
says  :  "  We  own  that  we  should  much  like  to  listen,  on  a 
still  summer  evening,  to  a  nocturne  performed  by  a 
school  of  catfish."  So  should  I ;  and  if  by  remaining 
to-night  upon  the  creek  I  might  be  so  fortunate,  I  should 
certainly  stay  ;  but  the  difficulty  rests  here.  The  vocal 
power  of  a  catfish,  if  I  mistake  not,  consists  of  but  a 
faint  humming  sound,  seldom  if  ever  uttered  except 
during  the  breeding  season.  It  is  otherwise  with  the 
eels ;  they  pipe  a  single,  half-metallic  note  at  frequent 
intervals,  and  quite  as  often  in  August  as  in  early  spring. 
Most  unsatisfactory,  indeed,  it  is,  as  I  know  to  my  sorrow, 
to  wait  for  hours  until  the  eels  have  congregated  and  all 
seems  favorable,  and  then  bull-frogs  in  the  marshes,  katy- 


THE  DRAWBRIDGE.  301 

dids  in  the  trees,  and  crickets  everywliere,  commence 
their  fearf al  racket,  drowning  every  other  sound.  Often 
and  often  I  have  had  good  grounds  for  believing  that  I 
should  be  treated  to  a  nocturne  performed  by  a  fish,  or  a 
school  of  them,  and  such  has  been  the  result.  Particu- 
larly disgusting  is  such  an  experience  when  you  have 
brought  a  sceptical  friend  with  you.  He  says  provok- 
ingly  little,  but  seems  busy  at  measuring  the  length, 
breadth,  and  depth  of  your  imagination.  Often,  when 
I  have  failed  through  such  mishaps  to  hear  the  fishes 
that  I  knew  were  singing,  I  have,  to  misquote  Tom 

Ilood, 

Brought  down  my  oar  with  a  sudden  slam 

That  sounded  like  a  watery  "  damn." 

In  conclusion,  I  clip  the  following  from  a  recent 
magazine;  its  perusal  gave  me  pleasure.  The  writer, 
who  is  wandering  in  Florida,  writes :  "What  impressed 
me  strongly  were  the  mysterious  sounds  coming  from 
the  inland  waters  during  this  cruise.  I  had  been  scep- 
tical as  to  vocal  fish,  but  to-day  I  have  not  the  least  hes- 
itancy in  declaring  that  fish  have  voices  which  are  just 
as  distinguishable  as  if  a  man  were  singing  in  the  room 
where  I  am  writing.  Now,  I  had  been  quite  aware  that 
certain  fish  (you  can  catch  them  off  New  York  Harbor 
and  all  along  the  coast)  emit  sounds  when  out  of  their 
element,  but  I  have  never  heard  them  before  in  the 
w\ater.  When  off  the  Ten  Thousand  Islands,  every  quiet 
evening,  for  hours  together,  strange  sounds  were  heard. 
Now  they  would  burst  forth  on  one  side  of  the  schooner, 
now  on  the  other.  Some  fish  was  singing  a  solo  for 
our  benefit."     And  from  another  publication  I  clip  the 


302  WASTE-LAND  WiVXDERINGS. 

following,  likewise  for  tlie  benefit  of  those  wlio  doubt 
that  certain  fishes  have  voices  :  "  The  white  perch  of  the 
Ohio  are  noted  for  the  musical  sounds  they  make.  The 
sound  is  much  like  that  produced  by  a  silk  thread  placed 
in  a  window  where  the  wind  blows  across  it." 

There  is  a  gentle  breeze  that  tiptoes  by,  an  hour  be- 
fore sunrise,  not  rudely  chilling  animal  or  plant,  but 
softly  rouses  each  from  its  shimber,  kisses  it  "good- 
morning,"  and  is  gone.  It  fanned  my  cheek  as  1  passed 
over  the  meadow,  hurrying  to  my  boat. 

As  light  a  zephyr  has  rippled  the  waters  at  intervals 
this  afternoon,  with  no  intimation  of  its  coming  until  the 
smooth  surface  was  streaked  with  steel-blue  bands  that 
noiselessly  shot  from  shore  to  shore,  and  as  silently  dis- 
appeared. I  chanced  in  the  path  of  one,  and  found  it 
laden  with  the  sweet  odor  of  ripening  fox-grapes. 

The  day  closes.  The  shadows  gather  about  the  an- 
cient bridge  and  soften  its  uncouth  shapeleseness  until 
it  is  but  a  cloud  in  the  horizon.  My  pleasant  outings 
upon  the  creek  are  now  but  treasures  of  memory.  "With 
the  perfumed  breath  of  ripened  summer,  the  song  of  a 
dreaming  bird,  and  the  flush  of  the  evening  breeze  to 
cheer  me,  let  me  hurry  away, 

"Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind." 


INDEX. 


Acer  riibrum,  103. 

Acqienser  sturio,  108,142, 146,  220. 

Adder's  -  tongue      {Erythronium 

Americanuni),  117. 
Estivation  among  mammals,  180. 
Agelaius  phmmceus,  49,195,  223. 
Alauda  alpestris,  175,  287. 

"       rubra,  175,  287. 
Alder  {Ahius  serrulata),  124. 
Alisma  plantago,  85. 
Alnus  serrulata,  124. 
Alosa  sapidissinia,  105,  108, 142. 
Amber,  Occurrence  of,  in  Cross- 
wicks  valley,  163. 
America,"  "Travels  in,  La  Hon- 

tan's,  157. 
American  Naturalist,  quoted,  87, 

129. 
Amiurus  catus,  108,  273. 
Ampelis  cedrorum,  49. 
Ampelopsis  quinquefoUa,  AA,  200, 

205,  256. 
Amphicarpcea  monoica,  85. 
Anas  boschas,  283. 
Anemone  nemorosa,  117. 
Anguilla  rostrata,  254,  300. 
Animals,  Inquisitiveaess  among, 

12. 
Anne,  The  shallop,  225. 
Anthus  ludovicianus,  175,  287. 
Antrostomus  vociferus,  11,  220. 

Ants,  36. 

"    brood  of  winged,  86,  88. 
Apios  tuberosa,  66,  271. 
Apis  mellifica,  16, 195,  241. 
Araneina,  36. 
Arctomys  monax,  251. 
Ardea  herodiaSy  129, 177. 


Armcola  riparia,  135,  200,  203. 
Audubon,  J.  J.,  quoted,  118. 

Baltimore    oriole    {Icterus    balti- 

more),  57, 198,  237. 
Barton,  Benj.  Smith,  on  migration 

of  birds,  quoted,  174,  277,  279, 

296. 
Bartram,  John,  quoted,  67. 

William.  "       174. 
Bascanion  constrictor,  147,  264. 
Bates,  Henry  W.,  on  habits  of 

Saiiba  ants,  quoted,  89. 
Bats  ( Vefipertilionida'),  ^Estivation 

of,  183. 
Bats,  261. 
Beaver -tree    {Magnolia   glauca), 

147. 
Beech  (Fagusferruginea),  297. 
Bee-martiu  {Tyrannus  carolinen- 

sis),  172. 
Bell -wort  {Tlvularia  perfoliata), 

117. 
Betula  nigra,  38,  68,  103. 
Bill -fish  {Tylosurus  longirostris), 

217 
l^\vc\\  {Betula  nigra),  38,  68, 103. 
Bird,  Yellow  (Chrysomitris  tris- 

ti.s),  51. 

Birds,  Color  sense  of,  40. 
"      Migration  of,  173, 178. 
"      Quarrels  among.  12. 

Bittern,  Great  {Botaurus  lentigi- 
nosus),  127. 

Bitter  -  sweet  {Solanuni  dulcama- 
ra), 65. 

Blackberry  {Bubus  villosus),  111, 
256,  280. 


304 


INDEX. 


Blackbird,  Red- winged  (Agelaius 

jyhoiniceus),  49, 195,  223. 
Black-capped  tit  {Parus  atricapil- 

lus),  285. 
Bluebird  {Sialia  slal  is),  oO,2o5,2Q2, 

284. 
Bluet  (Hbusfoni'a  ccerulea),  117. 
Boleosoma  Olmstedi,  210. 
Bonaparte,  C.  L.,  18. 
Boneset     {Eupatorium    perfolia- 

tuiii),  79. 
Bordentown,  New    Jersey,  171, 

176, 187,  208. 
Botaurus  lenUginosus,  127. 
Bowlders,  64. 

Brainerd,  John.  Indian  mission- 
ary, quoted,  235. 
Branta  canadensis.  9, 126, 144. 
Brasenia  peltata,  215. 
Brewer,  Tlios.  M.,  55,  88, 172,  274. 
Brinton,  Dr.  D.  G.,  on  Delaware 

Indian  idols,  quoted,  236. 
Bristol,   Pennsylvania,  porpoises 

seen  near,  215. 
Bubo  virginianus,  145. 
Bufo  americaniis,  81. 
Bull-frog  {Rana  Catesbyana),  11, 

200. 
Bunting,  Bay  -  winged    {Pocecetes 

gramineiis),  51,  203. 
Burlington,  New  Jersey,  68,  146, 

215. 
Burrows  of  mammals,  bow  con- 
structed, 245. 
Butler,  Amos  W., on  animal  weath- 
er-lore, quoted,  23. 
Butterflies,  Migrations  of,  80. 
Butterfly  Plexippus  (Danais plex- 

ippus),  79. 
Butterfly,  Red  admiral  {Vanessa 

atalanta)^  79. 
Butternut   {Juglans   cinerea),  68, 

145. 
Button -bush  {Ceplialanthus  occi- 

de?ifalis),  66,  85, 133. 
Button-wood  {Platanus  occidenia- 

lis),  103. 
Buzzard,  Turkey  {Cathartes  aura\ 

42, 176. 
Buzzard's  Rest,  21,  38. 


Caltha  2Kdustris,  118. 
Calystegia  sepiuni,  66. 
Campanius,  Thomas,  historian  of 

"New  Sweden,"  quoted,  165, 

214,  271. 
Canis  lupus,  145. 
Cardinal-grosbeak  {Cardinalis  vir- 

ginianus),  34,  53,  97,  293,  294. 
Cardinalis  virginianus,  34,  53,  97, 

293,  294. 
Carpenter-bee  {Xylocopa  nrgin- 

ica),  265. 
Carpiiius  aniericanus,  2,  3,  38,  68, 

200. 
Carpodacus  purpicreus,  289. 
Carya  alba,  145. 

"      porcina,  2,  S8,QS. 
Castanea   pumila,  145,  198,  256, 

297. 
Castanea  vesca,  146,  271,  297. 
Cat,  Domestic,  as  a  weather  proph- 
et, 30. 
Catalpa  (Catalpa  bignonioides),  82, 

257,  295. 
Cat -bird  {Galeoscopt.es  carolinen- 

sis),  56,  105, 109,  206. 
Catfish  {Amiurus  catus),  108,  273. 
"      Stone  {Noturus  gyrinus), 

59. 
Cathartes  aura,  42, 176. 
Cat-tail  {Typha  latifolia),  137. 
Cedar -bird  {Ampelis  cedrorum), 

49. 
Celastrus  scandens,  78. 
Centaury  (Sabbatia  angularis),ii5. 
Centurus  carolinensis,  112. 
Cephalaiithus  occidentalis,  66,  85, 

133. 
Certhia  fa miliaris,  286. 
Ceryle  alcyon,  11,  38,  41,  293. 
Chalkley,Thomas,  Journal  of,  155. 

267. 
Chat,   Yellow  -  breasted    {Icteria 

virens),  18,  56, 195. 
Chestnut  {Casta?ieavesca),14:Q,271, 

297. 
Chewink    {Pipilo    erytliropMlial- 

mus),  202. 
Qh.\nkii\)\n{Castaiiea  pumila), I'^^y 

198,  256,  297. 


INDEX. 


305 


Cliipmunk  {Tamias  8inafus),2iQ, 
201,  265. 

Chordeiles  pojKtue,  86. 

Chrysomitris  pinus,  175,  289. 
tnstis,o\,2Ql. 

Cicada  tihicen,  83. 

Clrdum  lanceolaium,  261. 

Cistotlioriis  palustris,  253,  273. 

Cistudo  clausa,  149,  248. 

Clay,  163. 

Claytonia  mrginka,  117. 

Clematis  mrginiana,  79. 

Clethra  almfolia,  59. 

Clover  (TrifoUum  prateiue),  138. 

Coccyyus  americanus,  83, 193. 
"        erythropldJialmus,  84. 

Colaptes  auratus,  53, 195. 

CoUurio  horealis,  281,  288. 
"        excubitoroides,  281. 

Columba  caroliiiensis,  111. 
"       migrator  ia,  177. 

Condylura  cristaia,  246. 

Cone  flower  (liudbeckia  ladniata), 
67. 

Contopus  Direns,  83. 

Cook,  Prof.  Geo.  H.,  State  Geolo- 
gist of  New  Jersey,  quoted, 
163, 165. 

Corn-crake  {Crex  prate  mis),  170. 

Cornus  Jlorida,  2, 117. 

Corvus  americanus,  47,  56. 

Corylus  americana,  145. 

Cougar  (Felis  concolor),  145. 

Cowpen-bird  {Molothras  pecoris), 

Cows  as  w^eatlier  prophets,  25, 
Coxcomb  grass  (^Panicum  criis- 

galU),  137. 
Creeper,  Brown  tree  {Certhia  fa- 

miliaris),  286. 
Creeper,    Virginia     (Ampelopsis 

quinquefolia),  44,  200,  205,  256. 
Crex  pratensis,  170. 
Cricket  {Gryllus  S2h),  220. 
Crosswicks   Creek,  144,  145,  170, 

177,  214,  224,  226,  252,  208. 
Crosswicks  Sea-serpent,  81. 
Crow  {Corvus  americanuH),  47,  50. 
Cuckoo,  Black -billed   {Coccygus 

erythroplithalmus),  84. 


Cuckoo,  Yellow-billed   {Coccygus 

americanus),  83,  193. 
Cidex  damnosus,  191,  241. 

"     .<<;).,  242. 
Cumberford,  Jemmy,  adventure 

of,  225. 
Cuscuta  gronoTii,  111. 
Cyanospiza  cyanea,  56,  262. 
Cyanura  cristata,  Ji4,  293,  296. 
Cynthia  virginica,  118. 
Cypress  {Cupressus  t/iyoides),  271. 
Cypris  sp.,  211. 

Dabcliick.     (See  Devil  Diver.) 
Damsons.     (See  Wild  Plum.) 
Danais  jilexippus,  79. 
Daphniapulex,  213. 
Darter,    Tesselated      {Boleosoma 

Olmstedi),  210. 
Datura  stramonium,  261. 
Dead  Willow  Bend,  116, 120, 127, 

138, 140. 
Delaware  River,  64,  68, 144, 146, 

167, 169, 187,  215,  268. 

Dendrceca  (Estiva,  8,  41,  69. 

"        discolor,  198. 

"        maculosa,  8. 

Devil  Diver  {Podilymbus'podiceps\ 

177. 
Dewberry  {liubus  canadensis), 2Q5. 
Didelphis  xirginianus,  32,  96. 
Diospyros  virginiana,  272. 
Dodder  {Cuscuta  gronovii),  111. 
Dogs  as  weather  prophets,  29. 
Dog-wood  {Cornus Jlorida),  2, 117. 
Dove,  Turtle   {Zenadura   caroli- 

nensis),  177. 
Drawbridge,  The,  255,  267. 
Ducks, wild  {Anatida\  144. 
Duncan,  P.  Martin,  quoted,  91. 

Eagle-owl  {Bubo  virginianus),lA.ii. 
Ectopistcs  migratorias,  177,  224. 
Eel  {Anguilla  rostrata),  254,  300. 
Eel-crow,  176. 

'  *  grass  {Vallisneria  spiralis), 211. 
Empidonax  flavirentris,  15. 

traillii,  114. 
Encyclopocdia  Britaunica,  quoted, 
184. 


306 


INDEX. 


Equisetum  arvense,  118. 
Eremophila  alpestris,  175,  287. 
Erythronvum  americanum,  117. 
Eskimo,  Traces  of,  in  New  Jer- 
sey, 77, 160. 
Esox  reticulatus,  108,  216. 
Eupatorium  perfoliatum,  79. 

Fagus  ferriiginea,  297. 

Fairtborne,  Natty,  8. 

Falcon,  Winter  {Buteo  Uneatus),  55. 

Faxon's  Brook,  65,  243. 

Fedia  oUtoria,  232. 

Felis  concolor,  145. 

Fiber  zibcthicus,  99. 

Finch,    Fox  -  colored    {Passerella 

iliaca),  292. 
Finch,  Pine  {Chrysomitris  pinus), 

175,  289. 
Finch,  Purple  {Carpodacus  pur- 

pureus),  289. 
Finch,  White  -  crowned  {Zonotri- 

ckia  leucopkrys),  292. 
Fire-fly  {Lampyrus  sp.),  220. 
Fish  affected  by  lightning,  188. 

* '    hawk  {Pandion  carolinensis)^ 

42. 
Fish,  Sense  of  direction  possessed 

by,  136. 
Fish,  Vision  of  lateral-eyed,  298. 

"     Voice  of,  300. 
Florida  coirulea,  129. 
Flycatcher,  Great  crested  {Myiar- 

chus  crinitns),  172. 
Flycatcher,  Green,  black  -  capped 

{Myiodiodes  jyusillus),  8. 
Flycatcher,  Scissor-tail  {Milvulus 

forjicatus),  172. 
Flycatcher,  Traill's   (Emjndonax 

traillii),  114. 
Flycatcher,  Yellow  -  bellied  (Em- 

pidonax  jlaviveniris),  15. 
Fossil -wood.  Occurrence    of,  in 

clay,  163. 
Fox  [Vulpes  tndgaris),  145,  251. 
Fringilla  mclodia^  177. 
Frog,  Bull  {Rana  Catesbyana),  11, 

200. 
Frog,  Green   {Rana   clamiians), 

170. 


Fundulus  multifasciatus,  99. 
"         ornatus,  167. 

Galeoscoptes  carolinensis,  56, 105, 
109,  206. 

Gallinula  galeata,  157. 

"        Carolina.    {SeePorzana 
Carolina.) 

Qii\\\w\i\Q,Y\oY\&d, {Gallinula  gale- 
ata), 157. 

Gar  {Lepidosteus  osseus),  142. 

Gaunt,  Uz,  quoted,  263. 

Geothlypis  trichas,  104. 

Gerardia  flava,  78. 

Godman,  J.  D.,  on  habits  of  mead- 
ow-mouse, quoted,  203. 

Gold,  supposed  occurrence  in  New 
Jersey,  165. 

Golden   Club  {Oroniium  aquati- 
cum),  118,  232,  271. 

Goniapliea  ludoviciana,  19. 

Goose,  Canada  {Branta  canaden- 
sis\  9, 12Q,  144. 

Grakle,  Purple  (Qinscaliis   'versi- 
color), 41,  56,  237. 

Grape  (  Vitis  labrusca),  44. 
' '     (  Vitis  cordifolia),  256. 

Grass.  Coxcomb  {Panicum  crus- 
galli),  137. 

Grass,  Eel  {Vallisneria  spiralis), 
217. 

Grosbeak,    Cardinal    {Cardinalis 
Tirginianus),  34,  53,  97. 

Grosbeak,  Rose-breasted  {Gonia- 
piliea  ludoviciana),  19, 

Ground-nut  {Apios  taberosd),  66, 
271. 

Gum,  Sour  {Kyssa  multiflora),  63. 

Gun-slip,  69. 

Gyrinus  sp.^  11, 180. 

Harlan,  Dr.  Richard,  230. 

Harporhynchus  rufus,  56,  202. 

Harvest-fl}''  {Cicada  tibicen),  83. 

Haw,  Black    {Viburnum  pruni- 
foliurn),  85. 

Hawk,  Fish  {PandAon  carolinen- 
sis), 42. 

Hawk,  Hen  {Buteo  vulgaris),  35. 
N ight  ( Chordeiles  popetue), 
86. 


INDEX. 


007 


Hawk,  Sharp  -  shinned  {Accipiter 

fascus),  20;"5. 
Hawk,     Sparrow     {Tlnnunculus 

sparxeriuH),  55. 
Hawkweed  (llieracium  sp.),  79. 
Hazel  {Corylus  americana),  145. 
Heckewelder,  Jolin,  ou  habits  of 

shrike,  (Rioted,  280. 
HeUnium  autamnale,  168, 171. 
Hempweed  (Mi/M/iia  sca?idens), 

187. 
Heron,  Blue  ( Florida  coerulea),  129. 

"      Great  blue  {Ardea  herodi- 

ns),  129, 177. 
Heron,  Little    green    {Butorides 

virescens),  129. 
Heron,  Niglit  {Nyctiardea  grisea), 

40, 129,  220. 
Hesperomys  leucopvs,  180,  204. 
Hickory,  Pignut  {Carya  porcina), 

2,  38,  68. 
Hieracium  sp. ,  79. 
Uirimdinidcp,  35, 82, 192. 
Hinindo  horreorum,  279. 
' '        purpurea,  278. 
Honey-bee    {Apis    mellijica),  16, 

195,  241. 
Hopniss.     (See  Apios  tuberosa.) 
Hornbeam    {Carpinus    artier  ica- 

nus),  2.  3,  38,  68,  200. 
Hornbeam,  Englisli,  4. 
Hornet  (  Vespa  inaculata),  37. 
Iloustoma  cmridea,  117. 
Hudson  Iliver,  144. 
Jlyla  versicolor,  194,  256,  265. 
Hypericum  sp.,  67. 

Icteria  virens,  18,  56, 195, 
Icterus  haltimore,  57,  198,  237. 
Lnpatiens fulva,  252. 
Indians,  Delaware,  10,  18,  68,  74, 

76, 106,  140,  145, 159. 165,  233. 
Indigo-bird  {Cyanospiza  cyanea), 

56,  262. 
Ivy  {Rhus  toxicodendroh),2i)Q. 

Jamestown  weed  {Datura  stra- 
monium), 261. 

Jay,  Blue  {Cyanura  cristata)^  54, 
293.  296. 


JclTeries,  Bichard,  on  mating  hab- 
its of  English  rook,  48. 
Juylans  cinerea,  68, 145. 

"        nigra,  145. 
Juiico  hyemalis,  289,  294. 

Kalm,  Peter,  quoted,  67, 145.  257, 
Kingbird    0yraunus   caroliiien- 

sis).  172. 
Kingfisher  {Ceryle  alcyon),  11,  38, 

41,293. 
Kinglet,  Golden  -  crowned  {Regu- 

Ins  sairapa),  285. 
Kinglet,  Buby-crowned  {Ilegulus 

calendula),  285. 
King-rail  {liallus  elegam),  70. 
Krider,  John,  rare  bird  collected 

by,  171. 

Lamb-lettuce  {Fedia  olitoria'),  233. 

Lampyrus  sp.,  220. 

Landing,  The,  222. 

Lapland  long-spur  {Plectrophanes 
lapponicus),  290. 

Lark,  Bed  —  titlark  ?  —  (Anthus 
ludovicianus),  175,  287. 

Lark,  Shore  {Eremophila  alpestris), 
175,  287. 

Laurie's  mill-pond,  74. 

Le  Sueur, C.  A.,  discovers  "orna- 
mented "  minnow ;  quoted,  167. 

Lepidosteus  osseus,  142. 

Lepomis  gibbosus,  137, 142,  297. 

LibelluUdce  sp. ,  80. 

Lilium  superbum,  58. 

Linden  {Tilia  americana),  2,  68, 
103. 

Linden  Bend.  2,  5,  8,  10, 16,  38. 

Lindstrom,  P.,  early  survey  of 
Delaware  Bivcr,  165,  267. 

Linnet  {(J^Jgiothus  linarius),  290. 

Liopeltis  Tcrnnlis,  72. 

Liriodendroii  tulipifcra,  146,  186. 

Lizard  (Sceleporus  u?idulatus),2o5, 
265. 

Lobelia  cardinnlis,  59. 

Lobelia,  Scarlet  {Lobelia  cardi- 
n(dis),  59. 

Lockwood,  Bev.  Samuel,  on  mas- 
todon in  New  Jersey,  129, 159. 


308 


INDEX. 


Locust  (Robinia  pseudacacia'),  68, 

257. 
LopJiophanes  hicolor,  51,  285,  294. 
Loskiel,  George  Heur}^  on  Indian 

fisheries,  quoted,  106. 
Louisiana,  History  of,  Du  Pratz's, 

155. 

Magnolia  glauca,  147. 
Mallard  {Anas  boscJias),  283. 
"  Manabattan's  Wagar,"268. 
Maple  (Acer  riibrum),  103. 
Marigold  {Caltha  palusiris),  118. 
Marmot  {Arctomys  monax),  251. 
Marsh  campagnol.    (See  Meadow- 
mouse). 
Martin,  Purple  [Frogiw  suUs\  277. 
Mastodon,  Occurrence  of   bones 

of,  in  New  Jersey,  159. 
May  -  apple   {Podophyllum  pelta- 

ium),  2. 
Meadow-comb  grass  {TricliocMoa 

capillar  is),  137. 
Meadow -lark  {Sturnella  magna), 

293. 
Mechen  -  tscbiholens  -  sipu,  2,  20, 

129,  215,  219. 
Melospiza   melodia,  51,  105,  139, 

202. 
Melospiza  p>alustns,  71,  105. 
Mepliitis  mephitica,  240,  255,  260. 
Mikania  scandens,  85,  137. 
Milfoil,  Water  {Myriophyllum  spi- 

catum),  137. 
]\Iill  Creek,  190,  215. 
Milvulus  forfcatus,  173. 
Mink  {Putorius  vison),  121,  255. 
Minnow,  Mud  {Umbra  Ihn'),  216. 
"         Ornamented  (Fundalus 

ornatus),  167. 
Mississippi  River,  Catfish  of  the, 

143. 
Mniotilta  taria,  41. 
Mole,  Star-nosed  {Condylura  cris- 

tata),  246. 
Molothrus  pccoris,  55,  293. 
Monmouth  Court-house,  New  Jer- 
sey, 269. 
Morone  americana,  106,  142,  273, 

297. 


Mosquito  {Culex  damnosus),  191, 

241. 
Mouse,  Meadow   {Arvicola  ripa- 

ria),  135,  200.  203. 
Mouse,  White-footed  {Hesperomys 

leucopus),  180,  204. 
]Musk-rat  {Fiber  zibetliicus),  99. 
Mussel  {Unio  sp.),  101. 
Mutilla  occidentalis,  244. 
Myiarchus  crinitus,  172. 
Myiodioctes  pusillus,  8. 
Myoxiissp.,  184. 
Myriophyllum  spicutum,  137. 

Nanemys  guttata,  135. 

Neun-toedter ,  280. 

New  York,  City  of,  146. 

North  American  Review,  quoted, 
78. 

Notemigonus  chrysoleucus,  7. 

Noturus  gyrinus,  59. 

JSfujjJiar  advena,  59. 

Nuthatch,  Red-bellied  {Sitta  can- 
adensis), 285. 

Nuthatch,  White- bellied  {Sitta 
Caroline nsis),  285. 

ISfyctiardea  grisea,  40, 129,  220. 

Nyssa  multiflora,  63. 

Oak,  Swamp  white  {Quercus  bi- 

color),  68,  85,  99,  103. 
Oak,  White  {Quercus  alba),  257, 

270. 
Oats,  Wild.     (See  Wild-rice.) 
Oconio's  leap,  69. 
(Enotliera  biennis,  67. 
Oporornis  agilis,  8. 
Opossum  {Bidelphis  virginiarms), 

32,  96. 
Ord,  George,  on  habits  of  meadow- 
mouse,  quoted,  201. 
Oriole,  Baltimore   {Icterus   balti- 

more),  57, 198,  237. 
Orontium  aquaticum,  118,  271. 
Ortyx  virginianus,  56. 
Overfield,  IVIiles,  weather  wisdom 

of,  quoted,  21. 
Owl,  Barn  {Strix  praiincola),  54. 

"     Eagle    {Bubo    mrginianus), 

145. 


INDEX. 


309 


Owl,  Little  red  (Scops  asio),  54. 
"     Snowy  {Nyctea  scandiaca), 
226. 

Packard,  Dr.  A.  S.,  on  habits  of 

ants,  quoted,  91,  244. 
Palreolitliic   Man,  Traces   of,  in 

New  Jersey,  77. 
Pandion  caroUnensis,  42. 
Panicum  crus-galli,ld7. 
Parus  atricapillus,  285, 
Pea,  Climbing  (^Amphicarp(xa  mo- 

noica),  85. 
Peach  {Perska  Tulgaris),  271. 
Peale's  Museum,  159. 
Pearson,  Isaac,  2G9. 
Pearson's  Inn,  270. 
Peewee  {Sayornis  fuscus),  272. 
"        Wood  {Contopus  virens), 

83. 
Pelecanus  tracliyrhyncJius,  144. 
Pelican    {Pelecanus    trachyrliyn- 

chus),  144. 
Perch,  White  {Morone  americana), 

106, 142,  273,  297. 
Persica  vulgaris,  271. 
Persimmon    {Biospyras    mrgini- 

ana),  272. 
Petrochelidon  lunifrons,  273,  275. 
Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania,  145, 

178,  278. 
Philohela  minor,  196. 
PJdemn  praiense,  138. 
Phytolacca  decandra,  261. 
Picidm,  16,  262, 293. 
Pickerel  -  weed    {Pontederia   cor- 

data),  59, 109. 
Picus  2)ubescens,  2d4:. 
Pigeon,  Passenger  (Ectopistes  mi- 
grator i  us),  177,  224. 
Pigeon-woodpecker  {Colaptes  au- 

ratus),  53. 
Pigs  as  weather  prophets,  27. 
Pike  (Esox  reticulatus),  106,  216. 
Pipilo  erythrophthalmus,  202. 
Pipit.     (See  Bed  Lark.) 
Platanus  occidentalis,  103. 
Plectrophanes  lappomcus,  290. 

"  nivalis,  2d0. 

"PlommonsUdden,"271. 


Plum,  Wild  (Prunus  americana), 

^7),  271. 
Ponetquissings  Creek,  4, 133,  214. 
Podilyrnhus  2)odiceps,  177. 
PodopIiyllu)>i  peltatum,  2. 
Poke  (P/iyfolacca  decandra),  261. 
"  Pons-pau-cloo-moose,"  279, 2«0. 
Pontederia  cordatwm,  59,  109. 
Pocccetes  gramineus,  51,  203. 
Porzana  Carolina,  169. 

"        jamaicencis,  169. 

"        novehoracencis,  169. 
Poultry  in  weather-lore,  33. 
Primrose  {G^Jnothera  biennis),  67. 
Princeton,  New  Jersey,  269. 
Prinos  verticillata,  283. 
Printz,  John,  Governor  of  "  New 

Sweden,"  165. 
Procyon  lotor,  261. 
Progne  suhis,  277. 
Prunus  americana,  85,  271. 
Putorius  ermineus,  255,  260. 

"        vison,  1,  21. 
Pyrgites  domesticus,  12,  56,  139. 
Pyrites,  Iron,  occurrence   of,  in 
clay,  163. 

Quail  {Ortyx  virginianus),  56. 
Quercus  alba,  257,  270. 

iiwfor,  68,  85,  99,  103. 
Quicksands,  160. 
Quiscalus  versicolor,  41, 56,  237. 

Raccoon  {Procyon  lator),  261. 

Kagwort  {Senecio  aureus),  118. 

liaia  ocellata,  215. 

Rail,  Common,  or  sora  {Porzana 
Carolina),  169. 

Rail,  King    {Rallus    elegans),  70, 
169. 

Rail,  Little   black   {Porzana  jo- 
maiccncis),  169. 

Rail,  Little  yellow^  {Porzana  nove- 
horacencis), 169. 

Rail,  Virginia    {Rallus    virginia- 
nus),  169. 

Rallus  elegans,  70, 169. 
"     virginianus,l(39. 

Rana  Cateshyana,  11,  200. 
"      clamiians,  170. 


310 


INDEX. 


Earitan  River,  268. 

Redstart    {Setophaga    ruticilla), 
12, 104, 198. 

Begulus  calendula,  285. 
*'        satrapa,  285. 

Bhus  glabra,  Q8,  82,  Ids. 
"     toxicodendron,  2hQ. 

BliyacopJiilus  solitarius,  195, 199. 

Rice,  Wild  {Zizania  aquatica),109, 
201,253,280. 

Robin  {Ttirdm  migratoi'ius),  284. 

Bohinia  pseudacacia,  68, 257. 

Boccus  Uneatus,  142,  273,  297. 

Rockfish — striped    bass — (Bociiis 
Uneatus),  142,  273,  297. 

Rook,  English,  curious  habits  of, 
48. 

Rose,  Wild  (Bosa  lucida),  280. 

Bubus  rillosus,  111. 

Budbeclda  laciniata,  67. 

Rutland  Beauty  {Calystegia  sept- 
um), 66. 

Sabbatia  angularis,  65. 

Salix  Babylonica,  82. 
"     «i9.,63, 103. 

Sand-piper,  Solitary   {RhyacopTd- 
lus  solitarius),  195, 199. 

Sand-piper,  "  Teeter  "  (Tringotdes 
macularius),  195. 

Sandy  Hook,  New  Jersey,  252. 

Sassafras  {Sassafras  officinale), 283. 

Sailba  ants,  90. 

Sayornisfuscus,  272. 

Sceleporus  undulatus,  255,  265. 

"  Science,"  quoted,  142. 

"  Science  Gossip,"  quoted,  46. 

Sciuropterus  volucella,  31. 

Sciurus  carolinensis,  16. 

Scops  asio,  54. 

ScuiUe-hug  {Gyrinus  sp.),  11, 180. 

Seal  (Phoca  xitulina),  215.  _ 

Senecio  aureus,  var.  Balsainitce,  118. 

Setophaga  ruticilla,  12, 104, 198. 

Shad  {Alosa  sapidissima),  105, 108, 
142,  297. 

Shark  River,  New  Jersey,  marl- 
pits  at,  105. 

"Sheep's-heads,"  108. 

ShclI-bark  {Carya  alba),  145. 


Shiner  —  roach  —  {JSfotemigonus 

chrysoleucus),  7. 
Shrike,  Northern  {Collurio  borea- 

lis),  281,  288. 
Shrike,  Southern  {Collurio    excu- 

bitorides),  281. 
Sialia  sialis,  50,  255,  262,  284. 
Sitta  canadensis,  285. 

' '    carolinensis,  285. 
Siurus  aurocapillus,  6. 

"      moiacilla,5. 
Skate  {Baia  ocellata),  215. 
Skunk  {Mephitis  mepjhitica),  246, 

255,  260. 
Smilax  {Smilax  rotundi folia),  8, 

205,  256,  280,  283. 
Snake,  Black  {Bascanion  constric- 
tor), 147,  264. 
'&n?Lke,GYeGu{Liopeltis  vernalis),'72. 
Snake,  Water  {Tropidonotus  sipe- 

(ZoTi),  11,71,  81, 108, 136. 
Sneeze -weed  {Helenium  autum- 

nale),  171. 
Snow-bird  {Junco  hyemalis\  289, 

294. 
Snow  bunting  {Plectrophanes  ni- 

mlis),  290. 
Solanum  dulcamara,  65. 
Sora  {Porzana  Carolina),  169. 
Sparrow,  English  {Pyrgites  domes- 

ticus),  12,  56, 139. 
Sparrow,  Field  {Spizella  pusilla), 

265. 
Sparrow,  Fox-colored  {Passerella 

iliaca),  262. 
Sparrow,  Song   {Melospiza   melo- 

^d«),  51, 105^139,  202,  292, 
Spa.rrow,S-wami)  {Melospiza  paly  s- 

tris),  71, 105. 
Sparrow,  Tree    {Spizella    monti- 

cola),  292,  294. 
Sparrow,  White-throated  (Z9?Z(9i';7"- 

chia  albicollis),  126,  262,  292. 
Spiders  {Araneina),  36. 
Spizella  monticola,  292,  294. 
Spizella  jnisilla,  265. 
Splatter  -  dock  {Nuphar  advena), 

59. 
Spring  Beauty  {Claytonia  virgin- 

ica),  117. 


INDEX. 


311 


Springs,  "Boiling/'  161. 
Squirrel,  Flying  {Sciaropterus  xol- 

ucdla),  31. 
Squirrel,  Graj''  {Sciurus  caroUnen- 

sis),  IG. 
St.  John's- wort  (Hypericum  sp.), 

67. 
Stacy, Mahlon, on  fisheries  of  Del- 
aware River,  quoted,  108. 
Stork,  European,  40. 
"Striped-stockings."    (See  Culex 

S2).) 
Stnx  praiincola,  54. 
Sturgeon  (Acipenser  sturio), 108, 

142, 146,  220. 
Sturnella  magna,  293. 
Sumac  {Rhus  glabra),  68, 82, 138. 
Sunfish   {Lepomis  gibbosus),  137, 

142,  297. 
Swallow,  Barn  {Ilirundo  horreo- 

rum),  279. 
Swallow,  Cliff  {Petrochelidon  Imii- 

frons),  273. 275. 
Swallows  (Ilirundinicke),  35,  83, 

192. 
Swamp  White-oak  Bend,  93. 
Swedes,  early    settlers    in    New 

Jersey,  123. 
Sycamore  (Platanus  occidentalis), 

68. 

Tachquachcauiminsclii,  76. 
Tamias  striatus,  246,  261,  265. 
Tarm-fisk,  214. 
Testudinata,  106,  220. 
Thalictrum  cornuti,  200. 
Th  i  stl  e  ( Cirsiu  m  la  nceolaiu  m),  261. 
Thoreau,  H.  D.,17, 168. 
Thrush,  Brown  {HarporJiynchus 

rufus),  56,  202. 
Thrush,  Song   (Tardus   musteli- 

nus),  10,  56,  204,  206. 
Thryothorus  ludovicianus,  53,  93, 

255, 262,  263,  272,  283. 
Tilia  americana,  2,  68, 103. 
Timothy  {Phleum  prateme),  138. 
Tinnunculus  sparverius,  55. 
Titmouse,  Crested  {LophopJianes 

bicolor),  51,  285,  294. 
Toad  {Bafo  araericanus),  81. 


Tortoise.Box  (Cistudo  dausa),  149, 

248. 
Tortoise,  Habits  of  young,  150. 
Touch-me-not  {Impatieiis  fulva), 

252. 
Tree-creeper  (Mniotilta  varia),  41. 
Tree  -  toad  {Ilyla  versicolor),  194, 

256,  265. 
TrifoUum  pratense,  138. 
Tringoidcs  macularius,  195. 
Troglodytes  o^don,  56, 118,  255,  262. 

"         americanus,  118. 
Tropidonotus   sipedon,  11,  71,  81, 

106, 136. 
Tulip -tree  {Liriodendron  tulip  i- 

fera),  146, 186. 
Tardus  migratorius,  284. 
Turdus  'mustelimis,10,5G,204:,  206. 
Turkey-buzzard  {Gathartes  aura), 

61. 
Turk's -cap  (Lilium  superbum), 

58. 
Turnbull, William  P.,  on  birds  of 

New  Jersey,  quoted,  128,  144, 

170,  173,  274. 
Turtle,  Spotted  (^Nanemys  giitta- 

tus),  135. 
Turtles  (Testudinata),  106.  220. 
Twin  Islands,  The.  153,  167. 
Typ/ia  latifolia,  137. 
2'yrannus  carolinensis,  172. 

Umbra  limi,  216. 
Unionidce,  101. 
Udularia  perfoliata,  117. 


'7. 


Vallisneria  spiralis,  21' 

Vanessa  atalanta,  79. 

Velvet  ant  {Mutilla  occidentalis), 

244. 
Verbena  hastata,  82. 
Vervain  (  Verbena  hastata),  82. 
Vcspa  maculata,  37. 
Vesper  bird.     (Sec  Bay-mngcd 

Bunting.) 
Vesper  tilionida',  183. 
Violcesp.,  117. 
Violets  (Violwsp.),  117. 
Vii-eo,  Red-eyed  ( Vireo  olivacea), 

104.  ' 


313 


INDEX. 


Vireo,  Yellow-throated  ( Vireofla- 

t'ifrons),  45. 
Vireos  (  Vit'eonida),  56. 
Virginia  creeper  [Ampelopsis  quin- 

quefoUa),  44,  200,  205,  256. 
Vitis  lahrusca,  44. 

"  cordifolia,2oQ. 
Vidpes  vulgaris,  145. 
Vultures.     (See  Tarkey-luzzard.) 

Walnut  {Juf/kms  nigra),  145,  271. 
Warbler,  Black  and  Yellow  {Ben- 

drceca  maculosa),  8. 
Warbler,  Connecticut  {Oporornis 

agilis),  8. 
Warbler,  Prairie  (Bendroxa  dis- 
color), 198. 
Warbler,  Yellow   (Bendrceca  ces- 

tiva),  8, 41,  69. 
Water-flea  {Baphnia  pulex),  213. 

"      mite  {Cypris  sp.),  211. 

"      shield   {Braserda  peltata), 

215. 
Water-thrush,  Large-billed   {Slu- 

rw.9  motacilla),  5. 
Water-thrush,  "Oven-bird"  {Si- 

urus  auricapillus),  6,  198. 
Watson,  Matthew,  on  early  navi- 
gation  of   Cross  wicks    Creek, 

quoted,  68. 
Watson's  Crossing,  66,  82. 

Ford,  9. 
Weasel  {Patorius  crmineus),  255, 

260. 
Weather-lore,  Animal, English, 23. 

Swexlish,23. 
Weather  -  lore,  Animal,  in    New 

Jersey,  23. 
Whippoorwill  {Antrostomus  wci- 

ferus),  11,  220. 
"■  White  Horse"  tavern,  270. 
Wild  Bean.     (See  Ground-nut.) 
Willow  {Salix  sp.),  68, 103. 

"      AVeeping   {Salix  Babylo- 

nica),  82. 


Wilson,  Alexander,  quoted,  84, 

172. 
Wind-flower  {Anemone  nemorosa), 

117. 
Winter-berry  (Prinos  xerticillata), 

283. 
Woodcock  {Philoliela  minor),  196. 
Woodpecker,  Downy  {Picas  pw- 

hescens),  294. 
Woodpecker,  Pigeon  {Colaptes  au- 

ratus),  53, 195. 
Woodpecker,  Red -bellied   {Cen- 

turus  caroline7isis),  112. 
Woodpeckers  {Picidw  s/;.), 16, 262, 

293. 
Wood-tattler.  (See  Solitary  Sand- 
piper.) 
Wood-thrush.  (See  Thrush, Song.) 
Woolman,  John,  267. 
Wren,  Carolina  {Thryothorus  lu- 

dovicianus),  53, 93,  255,  262,263, 

272,  283. 
Wren,  House  {Troglodytes  cedon), 

56, 118,  255,  262. 
Wren,  Marsh  {Cistothorus  palus- 

tris),  253,  273. 
Wren,  Winter   {Troglodytes  hye- 

malis),  287. 
Wren,  Wood  {Troglodytes america- 

nus:  Aud.),  118. 

Xylocojya  urginica,  265. 

Yellows-bird  (Chrisomitris  tristis), 

51,  261. 
Yellow  -  fever,  Epidemic    of,  in 

1793, 18. 
Yellow- throat,  Maryland  {Geoth- 

lypis  trichas),  104. 

Zencedura  caroUnensis,  177. 
Zizania  aquatica,  109,  201,  253, 

280. 
Zonotrichia  alUcollis  126,  262. 
"         leucojjhrys,  292. 


THE    END. 


